


Testament Of The Spirit

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: 'The two Starfleet officers had just become the most hated, and the most feared prisioners in the cave.' (05/25/2003)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: An unfortunate historical event was the backbone of this story. And with further unfortunateness, neither the despot responsible, or any colleagues within his regime were captured or convicted of any atrocities. To this day in our history, no charges have ever been laid against any of the party's leaders; and political members still hold governmental positions- never letting the country forget the threat of genocide is still there. I know most of you wanted to see Blasius get his dues in the end of this story, but well, that's how life goes. It's cruel. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. It was definitely a draining experience to write. And. Thank you to Gywen for allowing me to use her as a not just a thesaurus, but as a bouncing board for ideas.  


* * *

It was round. And it hung in space, a green and blue sphere. But that was all the planet had in common with Earth.

Captain Jonathan Archer sat in his chair staring at the view screen, chin resting in hand, foot tapping in beat with the engine's thrum at rest. His Vulcan Science Officer, Sub-Commander T'Pol, was gathering logistics. Ensign Hoshi Sato, Enterprise's Communication Officer, was studying the linguistics, while the Armory Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, evaluated the possible threat of danger.

A voice broke the collective concentration, pre-empted by a soft whoosh of turbo lift doors and jovial humming. The captain didn't have to turn around to recognize his Chief Engineer entering the bridge.

"Commander Tucker, how goes it?" asked Archer.

"It goes smoothly," drawled the Floridian, Charles 'Trip' Tucker III, taking his seat. "That is of course if you're referring to the ship."

Archer turned slightly. "Does that mean you're not running smoothly?"

Trip scratched his temple, eyes glaring at the armory officer to his left.  
"Well, aside from a nagging Englishman."

"I wouldn't nag if you would just get off yourâ€”"

"I'm sure the Commander will get to your phase cannons as soon as he has time," placated Archer, head slightly bowed towards an impatient Reed.

"Thank you, Captain," replied Trip, a sly grin shot in Reed's direction.

"Captain, I'm sure you're well aware of the possibilities of hostile aliens," started Lieutenant Reed. "An attack could come without..."

"That is unlikely, lieutenant," interrupted T'Pol. "It's logical to assume no threat would be forthcoming from this planet. It appears to be equivalent to Earth during it's nineteenth century."

The captain turned. "Is that true, lieutenant?"

Reed lowered his head, distraught. "Yes, Captain. But this is a starship..."

"And that is a planet," rebuked Trip, pointing a finger at the view screen.

"Lieutenant Reed, what have you learned so far?" appeased Archer. "You know first contact is one of my passions, and I really don't like to be kept waiting."

Reed straightened in his chair. "Sub-Commander T'Pol is correct..." he started, then paused expectantly.

"And?" urged Archer.

"I'm sorry," replied Reed. "I was waiting for someone to interrupt me. The planet is vastly behind us in technology. Their army, it they do so have one, is probably armed with no more than sticks and stones. But there is only so much our scanners can tell from this distance."

The captain nodded, turned to his linguistics officer. "Any luck with the dialects, Hoshi?"

The young ensign raised her head. "It was actually quite simple to decipher, sir. The planet is called Hexite, and aside from a few facial markings and a penchant for leather, they aren't much different than we are eitherâ€”cosmetically speaking, of course."

"Except they live several hundred light-years from Earth," smiled the Captain. Then he returned his eyes to the spinning planet before him. "Looks like it's time for..." he paused, turned to his science officer.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I was just waiting for you to interrupt me," Archer replied.

T'Pol raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And why is that, Captain?"

"I thought you'd like to dissuade me from prepping an away team and jumping right in."

T'Pol let out a slow breath as her eyes fell to the console before her. "I believe that would be a redundant gesture," she replied. "You would only go down there despite my precautions."

Archer stifled a grin. "You're learning, T'Pol."

With renewed energy, the captain rose and headed for the lift. "I think I'll take the Doctor on this one. Trip, Reed, you too, but only on your best behavior. I think a little outdoors will do you both some good. And T'Pol, Hoshi, why don't you join us?" Archer raised a hand, palm outwards in salutation. "Mayweather, you have the bridge. But no parties till the parents come home."

* * *

Three days.

That was the allotted time for the away team to survey the new planet and avoid any type of first contact. Archer was very specific about that. After previous near catastrophes, he wanted as little technology as possible on the planet. Armed with only basic modern necessities; tri-corders, communicators and new ear implanted universal translators, the away team had departed fully costumed and barring small cosmetic enhancements complimentary of Doctor Phlox.

Ensign Travis Mayweather, the ship's primary helmsman, was also given three days to partake in a mission of his own. He had been put in charge of the bridge before, but there had always been a higher ranking officer on board that could jump in at any given moment.

This time was different. There were higher ranks on board, but Mayweather had been given full control of Enterprise for the next three days to survey a pulsar in a neighboring system. It wasn't the glamorous first command he'd dreamt of, but it was still worth writing home about.

He stood inches from the captain's chair, eyeing it wearily with a hint of anticipation. Travis Mayweather had sat in it once before, but only briefly, and the situation had ended rather embarrassingly. So now, as he stood at the cusp of command, he was hesitant about taking the actual seat again.

Holding his breath, Travis finally took the seat gingerly. It felt comfortable. It felt powerful. He started to relax into the grey leather and pulled up the monitor to his left. Given that it was his first command, the Captain, T'Pol and Commander Tucker had left several lists and itineraries for him to fulfill and follow.

Engineering had been handed to Lieutenant Hess. Trip had left the ship in good shape, so Travis didn't feel there would be any forthcoming problems there.

Prior to departure, Sub-Commander T'Pol had organized the survey team to undertake the investigation of the star. So that was another agenda Travis didn't have to worry about either.

And of course the Captain had all but drawn a map to the star. Co-ordinates were already punched in, a return route and designated times were already established, and the shuttle from the planet had already returned. So all Travis had to do was give the command.

He sat high in his chair, a grin unbearably wide on his face. "We are a go for departure," he said proudly. "Take her out, straight and steady."

* * *

"Your translator is showing," stated T'Pol. She pointed to her captain's ear then adjusted her leather plainsman coat.

"I really wish we could have tested these things before we split up," he replied, tugging his right earlobe. Then he reached under his coat to remove his tri-corder.

"I have complete trust in Ensign Sato's abilities," said T'Pol. "As well as Commander Tucker's. If they say they are in working order..."

Archer frowned. "I wasn't undermining them..."

"Captain," interrupted T'Pol. "I believe we should get a move on. We only have three days before Ensign Mayweather returns, and aside from the few supplies we brought down, we are going to need to purchase more in the town up ahead. We should get going."

Captain Archer entered their current co-ordinates into his tri-corder so they wouldn't forget their pick-up site. Then he nodded and turned to leave, tucking his tri-corder back into the utility belt under his coat. "Trip and Reed went south, Hoshi and the Doc headed north-east, so I guess it's west for us." He paused and pointed a dramatic arm in their intended direction.. "Wagon's west!," he called.

"Captain," stated T'Pol. "We have no wagons."

"It's an old Earth saying," replied Archer. "When the American settlers were heading out west during the great push, they always started by saying 'wagons west'. Forgive me, I'm feeling a little nostalgic in this cowboy get up." Archer looked down at his costume attire with a smile.

T'Pol eyed him wearily. "I was not aware cowboys wore universal translators implanted in their ears."

Archer pulled on his right earlobe again. "Well, they didn't," he replied. "And I can't say they would have enjoyed them much either. As useful as they are, and I'm quite thankful for Trip's ingenuity on this one, they are annoying. It feels like I've got water in my ear."

"They take time to adjust," stated T'Pol. "But they are easier to hide, and decrease the use of our tri-cordersâ€”an obvious sign of alien technology. Now I suggest we hurry. It will be getting dark soon."

* * *

Hoshi Sato believed the town across the lake took away from the naturalistic beauty of the planet. Enclosed by flat fields, purple mountains and water, she couldn't envision a more beautiful place to beâ€”other than Earth. The landscape, with all it's majestic beauty, was scattered with tall, shady banana palm-like trees and emerald grass with pockets of water the colour of lima beans mixed with blue crayon.

There were strong undertones of Earth's Asian landscapes, but the young linguistic officer tried to ignore them and concentrate on the fact that this was an alien world.

She stepped forward, dipping a naked foot into the warm, green water. There was no sand at this lake's shore, only rocks and mud. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of being on a beach somewhere, maybe Risa.

"You've disappeared, Ensign," stated the Denobulan Doctor Phlox. "And apparently, so have I."

Hoshi Sato looked over her shoulder and saw the Doctor standing on the raised shore, studying his tri-corder. "Well, I can see you if that's any consequence."

Phlox glanced up. "I don't mean physically," he replied. "There's an abundance of minerals and semi-charged particles in the soil on this planet. Normal scan parameters are working, but unfortunately bio-scans are all but impossible. According to this, we don't exist," he finished, holding up his tri-corder.

Hoshi put her boot back on and headed up to the Doctor's location. "Maybe we should inform the captain?"

"I believe Captain Archer ordered communication discipline unless it was a dire emergency. As long as we still have verbal communication, I don't see this being an emergency yet."

Hoshi leaned over the Doctor's arm, studying the tri-corder. "Well, we meet up in a few hours, we can tell him then. Besides, if we've figured it out, he probably has too." She looked up and out over the countryside. "Have you learned anything else interesting?"

"I saw what seems to be a billboard back there," stated Phlox. "Again no picture, but the translator believes it's another claim towards the greatness of their leader."

"They love their sovereign way too much here," Hoshi replied. "It can't be healthy."

"We've barely met the people, and you're already forming opinions. I believe that can't be very healthy."

Hoshi threw the doctor an annoyed grin. "That's what? The tenth sign or banner we've seen so far? We only left the shuttle a short while ago, and we haven't been walking that fast. We haven't covered that much ground."

"Either way, I think we should follow the road into that town across the lake," replied Phlox. "I believe that is the rendezvous point."

Hoshi complied with the doctor's advice and started back towards the unpaved road. She looked up at the sky, smiled at the two suns; each falling into separate horizons. The effect threw dim oranges, pinks and purples across the sky. "It's a beautiful place," she said. "I wonder how the others are doing?"


	2. Chapter 2

> I see the world gradually turning into a wilderness. I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us to. I can feel the suffering of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquillity will return again.
> 
> â€”Anne Frank, 'Diary of a Young Lady'

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sighed, retracting his head from it's portentous view. "They're still there," he reported mournfully, unleashing a chorus of moans throughout the cavern. The disappointment of forty odd men was depressing to say the least, causing the armory officer to grimace.

"What d'ya expect," drawled Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker. "We're prisoners, not guests here."

"I'm blatantly aware of that," replied Reed. "But aren't you the one who said I should be more optimistic?"

Trip drew in a deep breath and turned away, picking his way through the crowded underground cavern. He shared sympathetic glances with those he passed, and finally, squeezing around a group of aliens in tattered leathers, he found a place to sleep.

"There must be a time when they're vulnerable," Reed said, taking a seat next to the engineer.

"Not likely," replied the commander, wiping a thick layer of grime from his face. But his efforts were futile. Under that layer of grime was another layer just waiting to be cleaned. "But they aren't even armed. What's up with that?"

Reed frowned. "Actually, that is the only thing that makes sense."

Trip raised his brows in the universal gesture of confusion.

"It's an old trick of the trade, Commander," sighed Reed. "Used centuries ago on Earth when weapons, and people, were relatively primitiveâ€”as like the inhabitants of this world.

"You don't arm guards working in prison quarters like these, it reduces the risk of them being stolen and used against you. Brute force in confined spaces is usually enough to keep prisoners at bay. After being worked to death, going up against an army, even unarmed, seems impossible." Reed noted his surroundings. "And it seems to be working quite well here. I don't see any heroic uprisings formulating, do you?"

Trip frowned, having only vaguely listened. "I'd rather not think about this right now," he replied slowly,

"Well, we're going to have to sooner or later, sir." Reed closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Have you even considered a plan of escape?"

Trip didn't reply. He rubbed his back against the cave wall, refining the obstinate dirt. Drawing his legs up and resting his arms across his knees, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Reed watched for a moment, then cast his eyes about the room as others bedded down for the night. The atmosphere assumed the personality of some weird camp-out. But knowing those guards were just outside the cavern's entrance was a sad reminder of otherwise.

He, along with every other misfortunate victim in the underground cavern, were prisoners. Reed didn't know the chronicles behind each and every capture, but how he and the commander had been caught was still fresh in his mind. And it kept repeating itself over and over again. And each time he saw it playback, he searched for where he had gone wrong and how he could have handled it differently.

With remorse, Lieutenant Reed reached down to his waist, subconsciously fingering the non-issue StarFleet buckle on the belt of his leather pants. Then he turned to his sleeping friend.

"I'll find us a way out of here," he said quietly. "I promise."

Trip shifted without comment.

* * *

The prisoners learned to set their internal clocks to wake before the guards arrived, for they had such an unpleasant way of waking a person. Banging on a large metal plate, they shouted and kicked until they were all on their feet. One morning, a particularly evil guard used a flaming torch to wake a late riser. He had set the poor man's clothes on fire with a smile. So, as sleep deprived as they were, the prisoners managed to get up extra early to escape from that torture.

His body begging for more sleep, Trip pushed himself to his feet. As he rose, he heard nearly every bone in his body crack, shooting pain through each muscle and leaving behind an aching reminder. Rubbing his back, he slowly made his way to the center of the room as he surveyed his dismal surroundings.

It was easy to tell how long a person had been there by the way they carried themselves. The new ones still walked proud and angry, and believing in escape. Trip could see it in their eyes. The look of a caged animal.

Trip remembered that feeling.

He and Reed had felt it after their capture. But there was no escape. Only hope of a rescue. And Trip felt he could never give up on that. Especially when he looked across the cavern at the 'lifers'. The one's who had probably been there since it had all beganâ€”the one's who kept to themselves, spoke little and hoarded everything they could get their hands on.

'Lifers' were easy to find in a crowd, having given up on pretense and posturing a long time ago; moving about the day with their eyes glazed over, their shoulders slumped.

And it was their eyes that haunted Trip the most. He didn't want those eyes; hollow, lifeless, no glimmer of hope to be found. And their emptiness was reflected in their physique's as well. Emaciated and pale, 'lifers' bore the scars of long term imprisonment and torture.

Trip looked himself over, running a hand down his filthy shirt. Someone had tried to steal it their first night, but to his defense the attacker had been weak from both hunger and dehydration. But all that remained of the once white T-shirt was the now murky grey bodyâ€”sleeves having been tossed aside in the defense of heat stroke.

Taking a deep breath, he hurried himself across the cavern and found Reed building a fire. This was the focal point of their new underground home; where everyone gathered to keep warm or talk when their loneliness became too unbearable. It also had a clear view of the cavern's entrance. The room was small with only one entrance, which made escape difficult since it was perpetually guarded by several men, menacing and bitter with their positions in life.

"Sleep well?" asked the lieutenant.

Trip nodded with a smirk, rubbing his bare arms with pained effort. "Just like a baby."

"Funny, you don't look particularly well."

"Thank you, lieutenant," retorted Trip, bending by the fire to keep warm.  
Despite the heat outside, the caves were cold and blankets were extremely hard to come by.

Reed sat back on his heels. "No, I mean it," he said. "You're looking rather pale."

Trip rubbed his hands over the heat, shrugging his friend's concern by the wayside.

"Well he better be careful," came a voice across the fire. Trip and Reed looked up to see a skinny man in ragged clothes and grim expression. "Looks like they took another last night."

The StarFleet officers darted their heads about the room searching for the missing victim. It was becoming a regular occurrence lately, to wake up and find one of them missing. Usually it was the extremely sick and weak who disappeared in the night. Their captor having no use for them anymore, he would have the guards drag them away in their sleep, never to be heard of again. And each morning the survivors woke up thankful they were still in the cave.

It was an odd thing to be grateful for.

"Who was it?" asked Reed, turning back to the skinny man whose name had slipped his mind. There were over forty men kept in this particular cavern, and he had yet to learn all their namesâ€”which he was beginning to think was a good thing. It made it that much easier when they disappeared. There was no use making a friend that was soon going to leave...or die. Which ever the case may be.

"Dovan," replied the man bitterly. "The one who broke his arm yesterday moving the rocks."

Trip swallowed hard. He had been working along side Dovan when he had broken his arm. And he remembered how Dovan continued to work despite the pain, for fear of what might happen. Unfortunately, the guards must have noticed. "Well, you don't have to worry about me," he sighed, standing up. "I may look like the walking dead, but I'm fine."

"Whether you are or not," said the man, rising from the fire. "You better keep that attitude up."

"You have yourself a good day too," retorted Trip, his rebuke unheard by the retreating stranger.

"He's right, you know," conceded Reed, throwing another stick into the building fire. "If you are getting sick, you better not let them know."

"I'm fine!" stated Trip, slowly backing away. "I'm just tired like everyone else here." He waved his arms, indicating the other prisoners slowly moving about the cave. "We've been here for three daysâ€”most much longer. No one has seen a decent meal, or bath, or even a clean drink of water! Of course I look ragged! We all do." Finished with his speech, Trip turned his back on the lieutenant and walked away.

"Maybe," replied Reed, under his breath. "Only some of us look worse than others."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise, but Captain Jonathan Archer had not slept. He had made a promise to himself that he would not rest until his friends were found. And he'd already broken that promise once when he fell asleep, if only for a few minutes, the previous night. He couldn't help himself. They had been searching non-stop since the disappearance, and his body couldn't take it any longer. He had passed out from shear exhaustion while everyone in the search party had stopped for a short break.

Phlox, the Denobulan doctor onboard Enterprise, had repeatedly told him to rest, that he would be no good to anyone if he was too weak to continue. But Jonathan Archer took no notice of his words, schooling all his strength to keep awake, and to keep searching. But now, as he knelt by the river splashing cold water on his face, he felt his body screaming once again for relief.

But he couldn't forget the silence. The silence on the other end of the communicator.

It had been three days since he had last seen or heard from Trip or Malcolm. They were suppose to meet with the rest of the group three days ago, for an unexpected departure. But neither had shown up, and the tri-corders were proving fruitless.

That's when the search party had begun.

And with Enterprise two weeks away, Jonathan Archer was having the worst away mission he could possibly imagine.

Their first night on the planet, Archer had received a rather unexpected communication from Ensign Travis Mayweather.

"Ensign Mayweather...Captain Archer? Do...read me? Captain? Sub...ander T'Pol? Anyone?"

Though static filled, Captain Archer was finally able to understand the noise coming through his communicator. "This is Captain Archer. Go ahead."

There was a lengthy pause before anyone came back. "This is Ensign Mayweather...Uh, I'm sorry to report...There's been a problem."

Archer dropped his head. "Go on."

"I'm not really sure where to begin, Captain."

"How 'bout the beginning, Ensign."

Again, there was a static filled pause before Mayweather's voice was heard. "I'm talking to you from the Darillion shuttle 'Pigot'. A few hours ago, Enterprise...Well, it was damaged, sir. Quite badly. But everything's okay," the voice rushed.

Archer drew in a deep breath. "Okay how?" he asked, voice restrained.

"Captain, we were inadvertently hit by a massive electro..." there was a pause, and Captain Archer could hear another voice in the back ground. "Electro-Magnetisizer pulse."

"What exactly is that, Ensign?"

"Well, it's the weapon the Darillion ship was testing," came back Mayweather's hesitant voice. "It stopped us dead in our tracks, sir. It's a very powerful weapon. But it was an accident, sir. No one was injured, it just shut down our entire electrical system. And the Darillion's were very apologetic. Their captain insists on complete retribution, and they're safe guarding the ship until we have sensors and weapons back online."

Archer dropped his head, braced a hand on his hip. "Why do I get the feeling that's not all?"

"Well, it's not. From what Lieutenant Hess tells me, we're going to need the Darillions to repair Enterprise. I'm actually on one of the Darillion shuttles. Enterprise is dead in the water, sir. We had to come back on one of their shuttles just to get into communication range."

"How long, Ensign?"

"About two weeks, sir."

After speaking with the Darillion Captain escorting Mayweather on the shuttle, Archer had felt moderately assured his crew and ship were safe. But it left him with few options. He had wanted to retrieve his ground crew and return with the shuttle, but there had been two little problemsâ€”and their names were Trip and Malcolm.

They had not arrived, or answered the hails. And none of the away team had wanted to leave without the two missing crew members.

It was three days later now, and Archer's head was spinning.

Trying to keep his focus straight, he stared at his reflection in the water, rippling and rolling with the gentle waves. It gave his face a distorted image, reflecting how he was feeling. "Damn you!" you cursed, punching his reflection. "How could you let this happen to them."

"You can not possibly be blaming yourself for this?"

Archer spun to see his Vulcan Sub-Commander standing behind him. "Why not?" he spat, standing abruptly. He brushed past her towards the encampment, not sparing the Vulcan a glance as he passed.

"Captain," called T'Pol, catching up to him. "This was not your fault. You do understand that, don't you?"

Archer marched ahead.

T'Pol stepped in front, cutting off his path. "Captain," she pressed. But Archer would not look at her. T'Pol stepped closer, making sure she had his undivided attention. "I repeat, this was not your fault. It is illogical to believe you had anything to do with Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed's disappearance. You were not even present when it occurred."

Deciding the Vulcan wasn't going to leave him alone with his misery, Archer relented. "I should have been aware of any problems that could have occurred on this planet. I was too eager to explore and jumped in without reservation." He closed his eyes briefly, letting his tongue sweep across his lips. "And I just keep thinking what if. What if I had gone with them? What if I had tried to contact them earlier? What if..."

"What if ," repeated T'Pol, dropping her arms. "You can not live in a world of what ifs. You can only live in the present."

"I see someone paid attention in Temporal Continuum 101," mused Dr. Phlox, coming up behind T'Pol. "Now if only our Captain would listen..."

Archer shook his head, staring at the ground. "Doctorâ€”"

"Now is not the time," interrupted the Denobulan. "A Hexite just arrived with news."

T'Pol and Archer waited with anticipation as Phlox turned back to the camp, waving them along. "We may have a lead," he said over his shoulder. "There's a village up ahead that claims several more families have also gone missing recently."

"And they believe they might be with the Commander and Lieutenant?" asked T'Pol, picking up her pace.

"It's hopeful," replied Phlox.

"Then why are we moving so slow?" demanded Archer. "We'll find out more once we get there."

* * *

Reed shielded his eyes as he stepped into the brilliant sunlight. After time in the dim cave network, a candle's flame seemed intense. But he managed to retain his composure, helping the other prisoners climb the last leg of the steep incline leading from their interim lodging. The armed guards above were rushing them along with threats and screams as each person greeted the day with fear and anxiety.

"What'll it be today boys?" mused Trip with a jocular expression, bringing up the rear of outgoing prisoners. "Tree cutting or rock removal?"

"Don't forget construction," added Reed, giving his friend a hand up. "That is after all, why we're here."

"And don't you forget it!" threatened an eavesdropping guard, jabbing his weapon butt behind Reed's knees.

Recovering, Reed threw the guard a beleaguered look and followed the rest of the prisoners. He couldn't decide which he liked better; the caves or the compound. Down below they had some privacy and a little refuse from the blazing heat, but above they had fresh air. Each had their own set of pros and cons, so Reed decided in the end they were both equal.

They both sucked.

He and Trip made their way through the crowd as their group joined with the others. Each morning the underground caves emptied, spilling hundreds of prisoners into the compound. Once they were all accounted for, they were broken down into work partiesâ€”as far as Lieutenant Reed could tell, by ability.

A group of artisans were being kept in the cavern adjacent to theirs who worked on the stone carvings and molds, and were usually kept under extreme lock and guard. Another group, Reed could only assume was located in another cave across the compound, was responsible for the cooking and cleaning for all the guards.

There were more groups, but he had yet to figure them all out. But he was certain of three things. One, aside from Trip and himself, there was a severe lack of educated persons being held prisoner. If ever one showed up, they usually didn't last very long. Second, there were plenty more groups similar to his and Trip's. The one reserved for the young and strongâ€”hard labor.

And third, each day he and the commander would be assigned a back breaking task; clear cutting trees, rock removal, gravel pit or fortress construction. All of them Reed hated, but building the fortress he hated most. It meant being in close proximity to the despot himself.

Through rumors, spreading quickly amongst the slaves, they had learned of Blasius, the tyrant responsible. He wanted to rule the planet, and later, the universe apparently. He was building his empire here, where ever here wasâ€”Reed had no clue, and was using slaves to do his dirty work. And he had quite a congregation so far the lieutenant noted, rising on his toes to look around.

The compound was built into a large canyon medial to two sloping hills, their terrain's cliff-faced and jagged. One end of the canyon was cut off by a wide rushing river too dangerous to cross. The other was protected by a thick forest, dense with unfamiliar brush and exotic wild animals. And right in the middle of all this was Blasius' soon-to-be fortress, from where he planned to live out his delusions of grandeur.

The commander tapped him on the shoulder, breaking Reed from his musings. "Let's head for tree cutting."

"Why tree cutting? I still have splinters from the other day."

"I'm not up for heavy lifting," replied Trip, rubbing his shoulder. "I haven't ached like this since I was pregnant." The commander paused, rolled his eyes.  
"And let's not dredge up the particulars on that incident, please."

"Tree cutting it is then," replied Reed, studying his friend. Trip's eyes were tired, his face drawn out, and he had lost his usual confident gait.

Reed turned his attention back to the guards doling out the daily duties. Seeing a group being led toward the forest, he grabbed the commander. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "We'll join that group."

The two prisoners bolted from the crowd, heading for the thirty or so others being led to the edge of the compound. But as they were about to join them, a burly guard dressed in black leather and brandishing a sturdy weapon stepped before them. His weapon resembled an old staff used on Earth centuries ago. But in this case, the ends were capped with circular metal globes, each spiked several times with serrated barbs.

"Where do you two think you're going?" the guard snarled, holding the officers at bay with his weapon across their chests.

Reed pointed at the group walking ahead of them. "We're with them," he explained. "We're just a little slow today...You know, tired and all..."

"Well get moving!" warned the guard with a shove.

* * *

Trip stood back and watched the large grey tree crash to the ground.

Reed eyed the ax-like tool in his own hand, turning it over and casting a glance at the guards surrounding them. "You know," he began, leaning close to Trip. "It would be so easy to take them. Catch them by surprise."

Trip looked at one of the guards resting against a tree. He looked no more than twelve by Earth standards, and hardly cultivated enough to use the weapon leaning idle at his side. The commander nodded regretfully, turning back to Reed. "Whatta 'bout the rest of the prisoners?" he said carefully.

Reed dropped his head. "I know. That's why I'm not actually considering it," he said. "If we escape, that means the others are going to be punished."

"And in case you haven't noticed, the odds are still against us," continued Trip, as he bent down to rest. "There's forty guards here, albeit young, but still armed with weapons I don't even want to think about. There's only five of us with these flinty axes. Personally, I'm giving odds to the spiky death sticks."

The armory officer rolled his wrist, spinning the ax in a circle. "They planned the odds that way. They have to give us tools, but they want to make sure we don't get any heroic ideas," he said, heading over to yet another tree. He pointed his ax up and nodded to the engineer.

Trip took a wanful breath and pushed up with great effort. It was like that morning, every joint creaked and ached.

"Sure you want to go up there again?" asked Reed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It might be easier chopping rather than clearing the branches."

The stubborn southerner shrugged the hand off. "I'm okay," he insisted, then grabbed a low branch and hoisted himself upwards. "If you wanna worry, worry about the other prisoners. I'm fine."

Reed watched the engineer carefully climb the tree, taking on each new height with a deep breath. The lieutenant positioned himself directly under him, moving around the tree as Trip did. He hated to think it, but Trip seemed a little unsteady and there was the possibility of a plunge.

If Trip wasn't going to take care of himself, then Reed was damn sure he would.

* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer had gathered the rest of the away team around a bare flag pole in the center of the small town. No one had news that could direct them in any particular direction, but as fearful as they were, many of the town's people had discussed their opinions concerning the planet's political underbelly. And some had even volunteered to join their party in order to find the stolen families.

"Perhaps you should start your own party?" suggested the captain, speaking to a town member, a somewhat elderly and crippled man. "That would allow us to cover more ground. We've come across several other towns such as yours, and some have sent out their own people to search and share information. You and your town's folk should consider doing the same."

With what appeared to be fearful reluctance, the man had merely just walked away. This left the captain with the remnants of his away team; T'Pol, Ensign Hoshi Sato and Doctor Phlox. They opted to keep their search party constrained to Enterprise crew only, keeping their minimal technology and secrets to themselves. Although the Hexites knew this planet better than any on the Enterprise, Sub-Commander T'Pol urged to keep their true identities quiet. They could use their own devices to navigate.

Unable to sit still, Archer paced the small square, going over in his mind the information they had gathered.

Phlox fell into step beside him, crossing back and forth in front of the bare flag pole. "There appears to be quite a degradation on this planet," he said, as they turned back for another crossing.

"I was thinking the same thing," replied Archer. "And from the looks of things, the young and strong seem to be on the menu." He paused, stared at the Denobulan. "And doctors."

Phlox stopped mid-step, a questionable look on his face.

"Out of all the villages we've been through, haven't you noticed a certain lack of cultivation?" noted Archer. "No disrespect intended, but the Hexites we've come across hardly seem capable of running their own house holds, let alone building these villages and towns. I have yet to come across a single doctor, student, politician, engineer, lawyer or teacher of any kindâ€”male or female. It's like someone has eradicated anyone who dares independent thought. All that's left are the drones."

"Well, I hate to agree," started Phlox. "But you do bring up an excellent point, Captain. Someone has carefully selected their victims. It seems that intellect is our adversary's adversary."

"But they also need a legion of laborers," added Hoshi. "How many are actually missing from here?"

"One hundred and sixty-seven," answered T'Pol, her tone stoic and dry. "Plus the two hundred and fifty-three from the town we reconned yesterday. And of course there are..."

"Lieutenant Reed and the Commander," finished Hoshi with a sigh.

"That is a total of four hundred and twenty-two. That we are aware of." The Vulcan paused, shifted her gaze to her captain. "There are most likely thousands of victims missing from this area. Perhaps even spanning several hundred kilometers. Which leads me to believe, that whomever is conducting this endeavor has a regimented hierarchy and a well constructed plan."

"So, what does this all mean?" asked Hoshi.

Archer turned back to the ensign, arms entwined across his chest. "I know exactly what this means," he responded sternly. "Cause I agree with T'Pol. Somebody out there is doing something on a grand scale, and he needs specific people, and specific manpower."

"Or someone needs to get rid of specific people, and specific manpower," added T'Pol.

"Well?!" urged Hoshi. "Which one is it?"

Walking past her, Archer spared Hoshi a fleeting glance. "Either there's a black hole on this planet sucking people into it's event horizon," he replied. "Or I think someone is afraid of retaliation."

* * *

Before Reed had a chance to leave the food line with his tray, a guard grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. "Hey," growled the guard, eyeing him sideways. "You and your friend better hurry along."

"Love to," replied Reed acerbically. "But you happen to be impeding our exit."

The guard snarled. "Walk around me."

Trip leaned over Reed's shoulder to get in the guard's face. He opened his mouth to speak a nasty rebuttal, but was cut short by a jab in the ribs from Reed.

"What was he gonna say?" asked the guard, poking Reed in the shoulder with the tip of his staff. "I'm curious."

"Nothing," droned Reed, sharing a leveled glance with his commander. "He has an odd condition commonly known as Foot in Mouth Disease. He has a tendency to open his mouth when he shouldn't."

Harrumphing, the guard let them move away from the line without further discussion.

Reed and Trip found a semi-secluded spot near the rest of the eating prisoners. They made themselves relatively comfortable, ready to digest their daily meal.

"I'm about ready to tell these backward heathens who we really are," stated Trip. "Maybe knowing there's a starship com'n with a weapons compliment powerful enough to blow 'em to bits, might make them re-think their plans for us?"

"Oh sure," answered Reed. "I'm sure they have real nice accommodations for aliens here....Nice cushy ones, with extra special torture that is. Trip, they probably think their planet is flat. Telling them we're from a different one all together might put the fear of death into them. And unfortunately, that death would probably consist of ours."

Trip drew in a deep breath, wincing at the pain, but nodding his understanding. Then he looked at his plateâ€”unidentifiable alien food. He shook his head and tossed it to the ground.

Reed maneuvered so they were shoulder to shoulder. "Commander," he whispered. "You have to eat. You have to keep your strength up, even if this does taste like..."

"Ungrateful slave!" came a booming voice above them.

Reed and Trip looked up to see the guard from the food line standing over them, snarling at the discarded food.

"You take what we give you and you eat it!" he ordered, spitting on the food lying in the dirt. Then he turned, marching away to join the other guards.

Trip stared at the food, then glanced at Reed "You wanna trade, mine's got sauce?"

Reed broke off a piece of a bread-like substance, cracking it on the edge of his plate like an egg. "Here, have some of mine. I think he's gone now."

Trip pushed it away, clutching his stomach. "I can't," he said, eyes closed. "It'll only resurface later."

Reed didn't think it was possible, but his friend actually looked worse than he had that morning.

Under their living conditions this past while it was no wonder he was sick. They were given food, if it could be called that, once a day and in child sized portions. What little water they were granted was usually brown, tepid, and stinking of musty wood. And the living conditions were no better; forty men crammed into a small underground cave where air couldn't circulate, and forced to breathe in each other's sweat.

But escape seemed like a myth, the guards out armed and out numbered them at least twenty to one. And even if Reed or Trip could plan an escape, most of the prisoners were too weak or frightened to fight anyway. They would be slaughtered in minutes.

The only thing they could hope for was a rescue, or a miracle.

Reed was betting on the first. And he thanked every God he could think of, even one's he didn't believe in, that he had friends worthy of the task. It also didn't hurt they were crew members of the starship Enterprise. That thought reassured him greatly. For if and when they got out of there, he knew what his first action would be when he got hold of his armory. And no mighty fortress or autocratic dictator was going to live to regret that day.

When eating time came to a conclusion, the guards rounded up the slaves while the prisoners assigned to kitchen duties gathered all the plates and mess left behind. If Blasius was anything, he was obsessively neatâ€”bordering on anal retentive. It was just another element that validated his insanity. That and the fact that he had yet to show his face amongst the prisoners.

"It makes me sick," Trip said to Reed, as they headed back to the forest with their work party. "He has hundreds, maybe thousands of slaves workin' and dyin' under his rule and he doesn't give a damn about anyone of them."

"I can't believe he has a following," replied Reed, keeping his voice low. "How can anyone advocate this Blasius? He's a nut case bent on domination. I want to just grab this guy and smack him into reality."

"Yeah right. Then you can make all woman adore me and take your place as High Commander of the Universe," mused Trip. "Face it, Blasius is so far gone there's no hope."

"I swear there's a village out there missing their idiot," sighed Reed.

"Hey! You two!" bellowed a voice behind them. They spun to see approaching guards. "You're coming with me!" ordered one of the men. "You're needed elsewhere!"

Reed struggled as a guard grabbed him around his neck, dragging him away from the other tree cutters. "Hey! You don't have to be so rough! I'm going, I'm going."

The guard pulled him harder, looking back to see his comrades tugging at Tripâ€”also putting up a fight. "Blasius feels you two would serve him better in construction," rumbled the guard. "Think of it as a compliment. A step up in life."

"I don't care what you think!" riposted Trip, as he was shoved passed Reed. He turned back to the guards, his face contorted with anger and frustration. "Call it what you like, but it's still slave labor! And Blasius is a maniac! He's sick if he thinks he's gonna get away with this!"

"Hey, Trip," Reed placated, wrapping an arm around the commander's torso. "Don't make it worse."

"No!," countered Trip. "I'm tired of this! I'm not holding my tongue any longer!" He tried to escape Reed's grasp, but he had a good hold of him, so he settled on yelling at the guards over his friend's shoulder. "You can't treat people this way!" he continued. "Haven't you ever heard of peace, love and respect thy neighbor!? Blasius doesn't even have the courage to show his face! He sits in his tent all day surrounded by guards, too afraid to face the shit he's created around him!"

"Commanâ€”Trip," pushed Reed, slowly losing his grip on his angered friend. "Let it go."

"I'd like to hear this," smiled one of the guards, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let the slave continue," he finished with a sneer. "Please."

Trip broke free from Reed and stepped up to the guard. "Blasius is a coward. He doesn't even have the common decency to face his slaves. What? Can't he stomach what he's doing? He's a freak who's going to one day meet his match. And believe me, I'll definitely have front row tickets to that bastard's demise!"

Reed swallowed hard as he listened to Trip's final words, wishing his commander wasn't so hot-headed at times like these. But part of the armory officer was smiling. He would have loved to let out a little steam. But Reed also knew it would only bring them further troublesâ€”something of which they didn't particularly need at the moment.

The guard laughed, grabbing Trip by the neck and yanking his head back. His eyes reduced to mere slits, he leaned over the slave's face. "Harsh words for someone in your position," he snarled. "Fortunately you are nothing, so your words mean nothing to someone like Blasius. You should be honored to be building his empire. You should bow down each day and pray he's as good to you as he is."

When the guard finished he released Trip, ordering one of his henchmen to seize him. Then he turned to Reed, ordering his capture as well. "Now I suggest you both be good little boys and do as your told," he said, as the two prisoners were carted off towards the construction area. "You may regret it otherwise."


	3. Chapter 3

> Don't serve your country, don't serve your king.  
> Know your customs, but don't speak your tongue.  
> White man came took everyone.
> 
> -Midnight Oil, 'The Dead Heart'

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed could feel his skin burning. After several hours under the callous sun, spontaneous combustion was starting to sound like a good ideaâ€”and highly plausible. It would be an end to his misery, and that's all he cared about at this moment. That, and his friend and Commander, Charles Trip Tucker the III. He was quickly degenerating under this heat.

There wasn't anything Reed could do except curse Phlox's non-presence, so he kept a watchful eye. And when Trip stumbled trying to lift one of the gigantic concrete slabs into place, Reed felt his own stomach lurch.

He quickly scanned the area. It appeared none of the guards had noticed. And when Trip finally got the slab into place, Reed saw him bend over to recover, bracing his hands on his knees. "Trip," he cautioned in a restrained voice.

Trip looked back with a nod. Then he rose, drawing in a deep breath. Reed didn't have to say anything further.

But the contents of Trip's stomach could be stupid that way. They didn't care if anyone was watching. They were coming out regardless of place or time.

Reed tensed as Trip stumbled behind a rock, using it to support himself as he bent down. Reed caught the tail end of Trip's regurgitation and coughed purposefully, masking the unmistakable sounds coming from his friend. Examining the rock concealing the commander, Reed peered over and watched his friend spit out the last of the bile remaining in his mouth.

"You all right?" he asked.

Trip wiped his mouth, kicking dirt over the mess at his feet. "What do you think?" he said, more bitterly than intended. "Let's get back to work before anyone notices."

"Just try and take it easy."

Trip smiled weakly. "Tell Blasius that," he replied, heading for another slab.

"I'd like to tell Blasius a few other things as well," replied Reed. About to run down a list of complaints, he was interrupted by a commotion near one of the compound's perimeters.

Several guards were ushering in a new group of prisoners. They were bound at their ankles by chains, their mouths gagged as they were led into the compound. Reed looked down at his feet shaking his head. There had to be at least fifty in the new group, each unaware of what was to come.

He forced his breath out in a puff. There's has to be something I can do? Reed asked himself. I can't let this continue, I'm a bloody armory officer! He looked around the compound, scoping the area for weaknesses. An instructor at the Academy had once taught him, 'You will know your enemies weaknesses when you find them and take advantage of them.' The only problem Reed found with that was, without his precious technology he couldn't find any weaknesses in Blasius' militaristic alliance.

Malcolm Reed had to admit, as insane as the guy was, Blasius knew what he was doing.

* * *

With night came the evacuation of the compound. Per Blasius' protocols, slaves were herded back underground to the intricate cave network. It was difficult to keep a watchful eye on the prisoners in the dark. They were harder to keep track of, and escape became more of a possibility.

This also allowed Blasius' guards and retinue some rest time. A tyrant to his slaves he was, but to his men he was a benevolent leaderâ€”treating them to drink and stories as they relaxed amongst the grandiose tent city erected next to the budding fortress. Blasius understood the concept that a well treated apostle would be a loyal apostle. So each night he walked amongst them, ate with them, shared in their camaraderie and drank in their praise and worship like a gluttonous pig.

But below was a different story all together.

The guards on duty for the evening were beginning roll call. Taking each cavern scattered underneath the compound in groups, they rounded up the slaves in orderly lines. Here they were able to inspect the physical condition of each slave, and make sure no one had gone missing during the day.

Reed pushed a few slaves into line as he heard the approaching guards. Then he quickly took his place amongst them, standing next to Trip on the end. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked, turning to his friend.

Trip blinked, breaking his glazed stare into nothingness. "I haven't been sick in awhile," he responded slowly.

"That's what I'm afraid of," replied Reed. "You're about due."

Trip swallowed hard, and tasting bile he figured he should change the topic. "I haven't seen any of the new comers, have you?" he asked quietly. "I heard through the grapevine most of 'em were students."

"I heard at least two made it through," replied Reed. "But I don't know if that's for the better. I guess it's a good thing we have strength on our side, or we might have been tortured and killed like the rest of the intellects in our group."

"If I remember correctly," started Trip, with a frown. "We weren't the most intelligent victims in our group. It couldn't have been too difficult for the guards to determine which group we belonged too."

Reed held back a laugh. "Ah yes," he said. "You answered the guard's questions with such wisdom and persuasivenessâ€”a blank stare. Remind me to thank you later for not studying Hexite culture before we came down here."

Trip made a face but didn't have a chance to reply. The guards entered the cavern expecting complete silence and co-operation.

As if their task were demeaning and redundant, the guards picked over the slaves and checked their lists for the correct count. They paused at a few slaves, but only long enough to shout unanswered questions concerning any form of treason against Blasius.

By the end of the ordeal, it appeared the count was right and no one had any conspiratorial information, so the guards started towards the exit. But one remained behind, holding his chin in hand while scrutinizing the line of slaves.

The guard stepped toward Trip, and Reed snapped his head around to face his friend. His commander was starring back at him, his eyes apprehensive with a hint of fear. Damn. Thought Reed, thinning his lips. They've noticed.

"I see we've learned to co-operate now," chided the guard, sizing Trip up with his eyes. This caught the attention of the other guards as they came to stand behind their apparent leaderâ€”adding more anxiety to an already tense situation.

Trip furrowed his brow.

"You don't remember me?" asked the guard, placing his nose inches from the engineers.

Trip pulled his head back unsure.

The guard laughed and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, but you must," he replied boisterously. "We had such a lovely little chat this afternoon in the compound."

Trip swallowed hard, now recognizing the guard's face. "Well, you're all so ugly it's hard to tell you apart," he rebuked.

The guard quickly dropped his friendly facade, balling his hands into fists. In a quick, smooth motion, he lashed out with his right hand. His fist landed squarely in the middle of Reed's face. The armory officer staggered from the blow, landing sprawled on the ground behind the line.

Trip charged the guard.

Two of the guards grabbed the commander, locking his arms behind his back. Trip tried to struggle, but they were strong, not giving him much leeway. Then one of them wrapped a hand around his head, covering his mouth in a tight grip. Trip was silenced and restrained, and unable to break free.

Lieutenant Reed slowly picked himself off the ground, stunned, angry and carefully tugging on his right earlobe to check the translator. Every part of him wanted to rush the guardsâ€”possibly shove a phase torpedo up their ass, but that little display made him reconsider. They weren't going to play fair, so he took a deep breath and tried to contain himself.

But there was only so much self restraint a man could have. "Bastard," he mumbled under his breath.

The head guard squared his jaw, defining the muscles in his chin. "Did I say you could speak?" he hissed between yellow teeth.

"You can't...!" began Reed.

"Again you speak!" shouted the guard, keeping his eyes trained on Reed, but pointing to another prisoner down the line. "Kill him," he ordered evenly.

Two guards rushed the unsuspecting prisoner being singled out. Reed tried to stop them before they had a chance to carry out the order, but he was quickly restrained by the head guard.

"You can't do this!" screamed Reed, trying to free himself. But he was also silenced with a hand clamped over his mouth.

"You speak again," snarled the head guard, twisting Reed's arm up his back. "You will learn," he threatened, nodding his head at another innocent prisoner. "Kill him too."

Reed was forced to watch as the two prisoners were killed. Two guards, each grabbing a prisoner from behind, wrapped an arm around their victim's shoulder and the other in the opposite direction around their head and grabbing their chin. In one quick move the guards snapped the necks.

Crack.

Crack.

It was so quick the victims didn't have a chance to scream. The guards had done it with practiced accuracy, like they had done it so many times before now.

Reed closed his eyes as the two dead bodies slumped to the ground in a heap at the guard's feet. He felt like he was going to pass out. He had seen people killed before, it was an unfortunate part of the job as a StarFleet officer, but this was different.

These victims had not been killed in a war, or in self-defense, but because of him. Because he couldn't keep his mouth shut and control himself. He felt himself weaken and leaned his weight back on the guard holding him. His legs wouldn't support him any longer. He wanted to fall to the ground and melt into the earth. Hide forever.

He hit the ground hard when the guard finally released him. On his knees, Reed buried his head in his hands, unable to look at anyone.

"Now that you know how things work around here," started the head guard, walking back to the cavern's entrance. "We shouldn't have anymore problems."

Reed didn't respond. He kept his face and guilt hidden.

"Grab those bodies," ordered the guard. "We need to make room in here for two more slaves...Live ones would be nice, don't you think?" he chided, receiving a chorus of laughs from the other guards.

But Reed didn't hear him. His mind screamed too loud to hear any outside noise. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could only remain on his knees, face buried and frozen in that moment. In that exact moment he heard the necks snap, one after the other.

Crack.

Crack.

And Trip threw up. If the guards had still been in the cavern he wouldn't have cared. He bent over bracing his hands on his knees and drained what little there was in his stomach. Then he went to his friend.

Kneeling beside Reed, he draped an arm over his back and said nothing. For nothing could be said. Nothing could be done. And the two of them remained that way for some time. The rest of the cavern's residents left them, walking away in silence.

The two StarFleet officers had just become the most hated, and most feared, prisoners in the cave.

* * *

Night could be such an oddity. It could be your best friend, displaying magnificent stars and bringing with it peaceful dreams. Or it could be your worst enemy, creating a blackened earth and too much time to think. Looking to the stars usually eased the pain inside Archer, but on this night they only taunted him. Sparkling high above in the heavens, they reflected a sense that everything was all right with the universe. They were too beautiful to reflect anything else. But Archer couldn't find it in himself to share in their optimism. Instead, he felt more in tune with the dark matter between themâ€”the empty, black spaces that seemed to go on forever.

He threw another pebble into the fire, watching as tiny orange and white sparks flickered and faded. Several search parties had congregated for the eveningâ€”to share information. Archer had tried to convince everyone to keep searching through the night, but most had been too tired. Some had been on his side, wanting to push ahead with the search, but reason had a way of changing one's mind. And reason was usually a wise Vulcan urging everyone to get some sleep.

Even though he was Captain, Archer had lost his battle with T'Pol, and was stubbornly beginning to think he should leave the rest behind and set out after his crew members alone.

"Do you require company?" came a soft voice across the fire. "I've heard it is customary for humans to console with each other during times of...distress."

Captain Archer squinted through the smoke till he recognized T'Pol's angular face. "Sure. Why not," he replied, making room on his log.

T'Pol walked around the fire carrying a blanket, and took a seat next to her captain. She wrapped the blanket over his shoulders. "Dr. Phlox thought you might be cold," she said, with a raised eyebrow.

"Thanks," mumbled Archer, pulling the blanket tighter around his body.

T'Pol stretched her legs out in front of her, letting her feet feel the heat from the fire. "Humans have an uncanny ability to project their thoughts on their face. Captain, I believe I could accurately assume what you are thinking at this precise moment," she said, cocking her head to face him.

"Is that a Vulcan's way of asking what's on my mind?"

T'Pol ignored the question. "You are considering setting out on your own."

Archer didn't respond.

"But you need not worry," continued T'Pol. "Because I'm not going to allow you to make such a foolish mistake."

Archer looked at her. "What makes you think you could?" he asked. "If that was what I was thinking, there's no way you could stop me."

T'Pol cocked an eyebrow. "It is possible to stop the mighty Captain Archer," she replied. "I know a few things..."

"And what would they be, T'Pol?"

"I know you," replied the female sub-commander, receiving a confused look from her captain. "And I know that you would do anything you could to find Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. So when I tell you the best thing you can do for them is get some sleep, I know you will listen to me."

Archer shook his head, furrowed his brow. "How can sleeping help them?" he questioned. "We're just wasting time..."

T'Pol cut him off before his voice grew loud enough to wake the others. "What happens to you when you do not get your required sleep?" she asked, not waiting for a response. "You become phlegmatic. Your alertness diminishes. You are no longer attentive. It's the way the body works; human or Vulcan."

"What's your point?"

"My point," she stated, drawing in her legs. "Is that if you do not get some sleep, give yourself time to rest, you might miss something when we are actively searching. You might miss that track in the ground. You might not hear that whisper in the crowd, or that smell floating on a breeze. And these are the things we need to take notice of if we're going to find the Commander and Lieutenant."

Archer pushed his breath out and closed his eyes. Lacing his fingers behind his neck, he bowed his head. "You're right as always," he replied. "But just promise me one thing?"

"What is that, Captain?"

"Don't ever go anywhere without me?"

T'Pol drew her head back, the closest look to puzzlement as a Vulcan could get. "That is an illogical request," she replied.

"I know," sighed Archer, slumping his shoulders. "But I'm feeling cynical, humour me."

T'Pol stood up. "You can not protect the universe, Captain."

"Maybe not," he replied, turning to face her. "But at least I can try and protect the ones in my crew."


	4. Chapter 4

> There's thunder all around me, and there's poison in the air.  
> There's a lousy smell that smacks of hell, and dust all in me hair.  
> And it's go boys go, they'll time your every breath.  
> And everyday you're in this place, you're two days nearer death.  
> But you go...
> 
> â€”Great Big Sea, 'Chemical Workers Song'

"Give it up, Commander. You're never going to catch one as big as mine."

"What, as big as that minnow? Watch and learn," chided Command Charles 'Trip' Tucker.

"In your dreams," mused Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, cocking an eyebrow. "Give it up. Not only am I better looking than you, I'm a better fisherman."

Trip furrowed his brow, cocked his head to the side. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what? The sound of fish laughing at you?"

Trip put his impromptu pole down. "I heard people arguing," he said over his shoulder, starting towards the path running along side the river.

"So?" replied Reed.

Trip peered around a shrub next to the path. "I thought this place was supposed to be secret? That guy said no one fishes here, and that sure sounds like someone to me," he explained. "Besides, we're supposed to be work'n, remember?"

Reed dropped his pole. "Good point." He scurried to his friend's side behind the bush. "See anyone?"

Trip drew his head back. "There's a couple of guys with a broken cart down the path."

"Do they look like fishermen?" whispered Reed.

Trip gave an annoyed shrug. "I'd rather it be fishermen than our Captain," he replied. "Last time I checked, fishin' wasn't a pre-requisite on away missions."

"Good point. But neither is cart pulling, and that's what these people are doing," stated Reed. "I think we're safe." He sprang from behind the foliage where they had stowed their heavy jackets and gear, and marched down the path towards the two men.

Mistake number one: never leave your gear behind.

Trip jumped out onto the path after him, following Reed until they reached the broken cart. Apparently it had lost a wheel, and the two animals towing the cart would not budge.

Mistake number two: leave well enough alone.

"Good day," greeted Reed, giving one of the large animals a pat as he made his way to the rear of the cart. "Looks like you two could use a hand."

"That would be most appreciated," replied one of the men, his tone friendly and anxious.

Mistake number three: never judge a book by it's cover.

"A broken wheel," noted Reed, watching as Trip went down the other side of the cart. "We can fix that. My friend here is an expert at fixing things up."

Mistake number four: we separated.

The other man stood beside Trip. "We were just on our way to town," he began, reaching into the back of the cart to adjust a blanket. "And all of a sudden our wheel just broke free. "

Trip dropped to the ground and searched under the cart, looking for the missing bolts.

Meanwhile, Reed started to re-attach the renegade wheel. "So, you just passing through this area?" he asked, giving the wheel a kick into place.

"Just passing through," re-iterated one of the men.

Reed nodded and peered into the back of the cart. He noted the two men had an obviously large load under the cover, but as he curiously started to pull it back...

Mistake number five: expect the unexpected.

A crushing pain exploded at the base of his neck.

Reed's eyes flew open, his internal clock waking him before the morning guards arrived. It had been the same dream he'd had since their capture. It always started in the same place, and it always ended with the same crushing blow. He was getting tired of seeing his mistakes play over and over again in his mind. But he was thankful it wasn't last night's incident he had dreamt about.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he reached for his belt buckle. It was an unconscious move, and one he never gave much thought toâ€”he merely did it when he felt despondent.

The buckle was his talisman. A gift from Commander Tucker.

After learning the hard way, time alone with Trip in Shuttlepod One, Reed had begun to believe in optimism. And according to Trip, a talisman was an excellent focal point when strength was needed. So when they had returned to Enterprise after that frozen adventure, Trip had pulled off one of the StarFleet emblems from the com-panel Reed had used to record his dreary letters of death, and fashioned it into a belt buckle in remembrance of their survival.

And now it was Reed's amulet of optimism and strength.

Thinking of Trip, Reed turned over. He squeezed his eyes shut, thankful his commander was still there. He gave him a nudge, but Trip didn't respond. Reed sat up and rolled him onto his back, careful to support his head. The commander felt limp, damp and considerably light in his arms.

A few weeks ago Charles Tucker had been a sturdy guy, a competitor to reckon with. But now he was thin and weak. Reed looked himself over, noting he faired no better himself. But at least he wasn't sick.

Some of the other prisoners were also rising, but making it obviously clear they wanted nothing to do with them. No one would even make eye contact with Reed, let alone help.

"Come on, Commander," Reed pleaded, feeling his forehead with the palm of his hand. "How can you have a fever...? It's freezing in here." He looked over his shoulder. "Someone get that fire started!" he ordered, to no one in particular.

"Shut up!" replied a voice in the crowd. "You don't give orders 'round here!"

Reed squinted in the dim light trying to put a face with the voice. A young wiry man stepped forward, barefoot, his face dirty and scowling as he bent beside Trip.

"And since he won't be needing these no more," the prisoner said, untying the commander's boots as others gathered around.

Reed shoved him away, using the thief to knock the others back. "Touch him, and you'll have to deal with me!" he threatened, re-lacing his friend's boots. Then he stood to confront them head on. But they were retreating. Turning their backs once again on the ones in need.

"Damn it, Commander," Reed sighed, turning back to his friend. "Just wake up. That's an order." He saw his friend open his eyes. Trip raised his arm, indicating a help up.

Reed grabbed the hand and hoisted the commander to his feet. He pulled him close, their foreheads almost touching, and he could feel the heat emanating from his friend's body. "You have to do this, Mr. Tucker," Reed said quietly. "Don't leave me now. I can't handle all these thugs on my own."

Trip pulled his head back to look over Reed's shoulder. "They look like a real mob to reckon with," he said playfully.

"We shouldn't joke," replied Reed, following Trip's gaze. "I mean, I can't blame them for hating me."

Trip placed a hand on Reed's shoulder. "It's over. Let it go. You couldn't know what was going to happen last night."

"Maybe. But..."

"But nothing, Lieutenant. It's not your fault. Blame it all on Blasius. Without him, none of this would be happening. Just let it go."

"On one condition, " responded Reed with a smile. "I'll try and stop blaming myself, and you make it through the day without being sick?"

Trip winked. "That would be up to my stomach," he said wryly.

* * *

At the edge of another town, Captain Jonathan Archer readied his group to enter. As they headed down the trail, a heavily cloaked figure flew past them on a burly four-legged animal, kicking up a dust cloud behind him.

Ensign Hoshi Sato covered her mouth, coughing as the dust entered her lungs. "Like they couldn't see us here!" she choked, waving her hand to disperse the lingering dust.

"Maybe he has an agenda?" questioned Doctor Phlox. "Like news?"

"We don't know if anyone from this town is missing," pointed out Captain Archer. Then he walked ahead, taking the lead as the group entered the town.

The residents ceased their daily activities. Woman dropped their bags, elderly men stowed their tools and children stopped playing their games. All eyes reverted to the large entourage bearing stern faces and invading their town. It had been just over a month since their invasion, and for all they knew these determined strangers were amongst the culprits.

The town's magistrate and numerous familiesâ€”including new born children, had disappeared one night, never to be seen again. Aside from the empty beds and derelict stores and establishments that did not open the next morning, there had been few clues left behind.

Finally one of the women stepped forward, singling out the front man of the gang as the leader. She approached tentatively, her hands shaking. "Hello," she said.

Archer noted the woman's apprehension and smiled warmly. "Hello," he began. "It's a very nice town you have here. And rest assured, we mean you know harm." He paused, looking at the faces staring and watching him closely. "I believe we may actually be of some service."

* * *

The morning had passed without incident for the slaves, but a certain tension hung in the air. Reed couldn't put his finger on it, but somehow the guards seemed a little more on edge, a little more alert and attentive to their duties. Not that they were ever dismissive about their jobs, but today they appeared to take them a bit more seriously. Standing a little closer as they worked. Brandishing their weapons a tad more ferociously. Shouting more threats than normal.

There was also a large placard hanging on one of the fortress walls. It was new, and according to one of the few slaves who could read, it was a list of regulations.

You must answer all questions without hesitation.

You are strictly prohibited to dispute me.

You are a slave of the new revolution and are refused any rights under it.

If you know anything about a revolution against me, speak now and punishment will be less severe.

During lesson time or interrogation, you must not cry out.

Do nothing until my orders are given. And you must comply without protest.

Any disobedience will result in punishment.

And finally, which Reed found amusing...

If you can read this, you will most likely be killed tomorrow.

Reed sensed their situation becoming gravely worse.

He tried to stay as close to his commander as possible. Trip hadn't been sick yet, but there was also another matter that concerned Reed. His friend could be just as pig headed as him, and Reed didn't want there to be anymore trouble. Especially after last night's demonstration.

The lieutenant patted his chest, discharging puffs of white smoke into the air. The dust particles settled on his clothes and stuck to his sweaty skin. He was filthy, and covered head to toe in dry powder from the concrete slabs. And he was pretty sure he smelled bad too. Coughing, he bent down to catch his breath.

Rope.

The rope he had been using to tow the larger slabs was lying at his feet. Confident no one was watching, he seized the rope and tucked it into his shirt. He made sure it was completely hidden, adjusting his belts accordingly and stood up. Spotting Trip working on top the fortress wall, Reed headed over.

* * *

Trip had learned it was easier if he just didn't think about it; ignore his queasy stomach, the heavy work and the sweltering heat. Just concentrate on spreading the mortar.

Scoop. Plop. Spread. Scoop. Plop. Spread.

He repeated the actions over and over again like a drill. He was so into his routine he didn't notice Reed approaching. And when his friend called his name, Trip jumped, dropping his spade over the edge of the wall inside the fortress.

Trip hunched his shoulders, watching the tool miss a guard's head by mere inches. Then he turned to Reed. "Thank you. Now why don't you just kill me before that guy comes up here and does it himself."

Reed made a face and peered over the wall's edge. "Sorry," he replied sheepishly. "So, how are you doing?" he asked.

Trip rested his elbows on the wall, careful not to lean too far. "I'm ready to get out of here," he replied, hanging his head. "You saw that sign. We can't stay here. This is pathetic. It's unreal. We've been here for...for...I can't even remember how long we've been here. And I can't believe we haven't done anything. There's gotta be a way outta here."

Reed joined him on the wall. "We've gone over this," he said. "And you saw what happens when one person acts up. Can you imagine what would happen if two of us escaped? It would be a massacre. And I couldn't live with myself."

Trip slammed his fist on the wall, pushed himself back and started pacing. "What if we all worked together?"

Reed stepped to the other side of the wall overlooking the compound. "Oh yeah," he mused, watching the prisoners skulking about their work. "An army any General would be proud to take into battle." He turned back to Trip, crossing his arms over his chest. "Most of them couldn't fight even if they were given the chance. I'd bet more than half of them have already given up any hope of getting out of here."

Stopping mid pace, Trip clenched his fists. "What if we snuck out at daybreak and made it back before evening count? The guards wouldn't know we were gone."

"And do what?"

"I don't know! Find someone! Tell someone what's going on here and to get help!"

"I think it's better if we wait," replied Reed, shocked by his own sensibility.

"Wait for what, Lieutenant?!"

"The captain. T'Pol. Enterprise," stated Reed. "I know they're still out there looking for us." He paused, trying to lock eyes with Trip. "And you of all people know it too."

Trip swallowed and closed his eyes. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he wavered. Grabbing for the wall, he missed, and slumped to the ground. Dazed, Trip shook his head, trying to regain his senses. But his head felt heavy, it lolled to the side. And the contents of his stomach began to reel. He clutched his abdomen, tucking into the fetal position.

That was when Reed grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly hoisted him to his feet. Trip tried to stand on wobbly legs, but it was a tiring job and he started to collapse again.

Reed grabbed him harder, shaking him. "Hey," he whispered. "The guards are coming. Don't let this happen now. Get a grip." He let go, waiting to see if Trip could stand on his own.

Trip snapped his eyes open. His vision was blurry, but he could see three approaching figures coming across the wall. He couldn't let them see him falter or he wouldn't live to see the next sunrise. And by the time the guards were in front of him he had regained his composure. Or at least, a reasonable facsimile.

"Down into the compound!" ordered one of the guards as they walked past. "And get a move on!"

Reed watched over his shoulder as the guards continued down the wall, repeating the order to the rest of the slaves. He turned to Trip just as he slumped back against the wall. Reed grabbed him by the utility belt and pulled him upright. "Just make it to the compound," he said, pulling him along. "We can get lost in the crowd and then you can collapse all you want. Just stay with me till then."

* * *

As if it weren't hot enough, being squished amongst several hundred sweaty slaves was down right unbearable. Trip, using the crowd as camouflage, squatted beside Reed. Here, there was a little shade. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Reed raised on his toes, his head poking above the throng of other heads in the crowd. "It's hard to tell," he replied, straining his neck. "There's a group of guards milling about up there by the wall, and...And..." his voice trailed off, unable to escape his lips. His heart began slamming in his chest.

Trip's queasy stomach was momentarily forgotten, replaced by fear.

Reed lowered himself, running a hand through his greasy hair. When the guards had parted, he had recognized the equipment set up against the fortress wall. He figured most of the other prisoners did as well, but Reed knew more. He knew that inconspicuous piece of junk had more than one purpose. "It looks like lesson time again," he said. "It's a wheel."

At the words, Trip sprang up a little too quickly and staggered. He steadied himself using Reed's shoulder, and hoisted his head above the crowd. But blinding pain seared through his head, forcing him back. He grabbed his head, doubling over and grimacing at the pain. He squeezed his eyes tight, mumbling what few words he could manage to articulate.

"Make it stop..."

The crowd scuttled back, frightened to be seen with the sick slave. Reed stepped over his friend and wrapped his arms under Trip's shoulders. He hoisted him up, dragging him back into the crowd. He had to keep his friend hidden. He had to make sure the guards didn't see how sick he was. He had to ignore his friend's pleaâ€”which was difficult since the commander was still writhing in pain and clutching his head.

Finding a new spot amongst the crowd, Reed deposited Trip on the ground, lying him on his back at everyone's feet.

Trip rolled over, curling into the fetal position. "Just get away from me," he said. "You can't do anything...I'll just be your burden." Then he covered his head with his arms.

Reed dropped to his knees, grabbed Trip by his shirt. "Don't you ever say that," he stated, clenching his jaw. "I'm not leaving you."

Trip shook his head. "Go...Please..."

Reed found his friend's hand and wrapped it in his. "I can't tell you I'm not scared," he said, leaning over Trip. "But we have to do this. Together. Where's that stubborn southerner we all know and love?" he asked, trying unsuccessfully to lighten his tone. "Huh? I know he's in there."

Trip laughed, but the effort hurt his head. He knew if he looked hard enough, he could find a little fight left in himself. And when he found it, the pounding in his head didn't feel quite so bad. He forced himself to get up, but what energy he did find wasn't quite enough to get him to his feet. He contented himself, and Reed, to remaining on his knees.

Reed patted his friend on the head playfully. "There, that's a good little engineer."

Trip didn't look up, he merely raised a single finger, communicating a very distinct message.

Reed ignored it and turned his attention to the commotion at the base of the fortress. Amongst the guards now stood a figure draped in a long, thick black coat, a hat tilted slightly askew on his head, and a cane hanging from the crook of his arm. Reed squinted as the sun's rays bounced off the shiny tip of the cane, reflecting back over the crowd.

Oh, that must be Blasius. Reed thought to himself.

A hush fell over the compound as the man stepped onto a concrete slab, holding his head high as he looked over his subjects. The man's arrogance made Reed want to wretch. But he watched and listened anyway, for this was the first time Blasius had ever shown his face.

The man stood on his make-shift podium smiling out at the crowd for several moments before addressing them. "You are my slaves!" he bellowed, holding the last word for several beats. "You are nothing! And you come from nothing!"

"Don't tell me," said Trip from his knees. "Blasius?"

Reed nodded exasperated and turned back to the psychopath and his touching speech.

"But through me you will become legend!" continued Blasius, raising his arms in a 'V' over his head. "I will reshape this world in a way never seen before. I will reduce it to nothing, and start a new beginning. And through your hard work, sacrifice and dedication you will build my empire!"

"Dedication, my ass," mumbled Reed.

"And I give you this privilege...I allow you to be part of something greater than this world has ever seen before, and how do you repay me?!" shouted Blasius, his face contorting in anger and resentment. "With insolence and impertinence! You show me no respect and act against my guards! You will give me my due admiration! You will praise me as your new sovereign!"

The guards surrounding the crowd rushed forth, knocking the prisoners to their knees with the ends of their weapons. "Bow before your leader!" they screamed, making their way through the mob. "Kneel!"

"Where does he get off calling himself a sovereign?" rebuked Trip.

"Must be a Vulcan," mused Reed, whipping around to keep a watchful eye on the approaching guards.

"You'll show your respect!" boomed the guard's voices, rising high above the murmurs of the frightened crowd. "On your knees!"

Seeing several guards a few paces to his left, Reed dropped to his knees. "I never thought I'd bow down to anyone," he cursed with venom.

Trip shrugged. "Well, seeing how I'm already down here..."

Reed shot him a dry look before bowing his own head. A moment later a pair of dusty black boots appeared below his face. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to look up, but his curiosity got the better of him. Raising his head slowly, his eyes traced the boots up to the legs, and then higher to the guard's face.

"So, it is you," said the guard, smiling down at him. "Oh, this will be fun," he laughed, reaching his muscular arms for both Reed and Trip.

* * *

"Your town is not alone," explained Captain Archer to the gathering town's folk. "Young men and families have gone missing all across the countryside. Sons, fathers, sisters, merchants and anyone who dared an education... Even two of my own crew...friends."

"It's the Gods!" shouted an old woman.

"No," replied Sub-Commander T'Pol, pushing her way to her captain. She turned to the mob, pausing briefly as she confronted the fear and sadness etched on all their faces. "No, this was not the Gods."

"How do you know?!" the woman spat back. "They are punishing us for challenging their power! We've grown too strong, and they want us to repent!"

"I just know," T'Pol stated, arching an eyebrow. Unfamiliar with the particulars of this planet's religious icons, she hoped they would buy her claims if she put enough conviction behind them. "This isn't their style."

"And what is their style?!"

"I do not know exactly," replied T'Pol. "We all know the Gods work in mysterious ways. But do you truly believe we have committed such atrocities that the Gods would punish us? They nourish development, not condemn it."

"She's right," Archer said. "This wasn't the work of Gods. This is the work of a fellow Hexite, and we must stop it before it's too late. We have other town folk such as yourselves all out looking for our missing people."

"And we will not stop until we find them," added T'Pol, albeit not as convincing as she had hoped.

Archer nodded. "And you should do the same," he suggested to the crowd. "Join the search, and return your people to their rightful places."

"It's not that easy," stated a young woman, breaking from the crowd. She looked back at the members of her town. "Most of us are too old, too weak to stray far from our homes...And some of us have small children to care for. With our learned leaders and patrons missing, we have so few to manage the town. Most of us fear our own captures, and punishment for defiance. We can't just go rushing off to search."

She paused as a young boy ran up to her, wrapping his tiny arms around her legs. She brushed the hair off his face as he stared up at her. Then she looked back to the two forthright strangers. "As much as we'd like to preserve our futures."

Archer stepped forward, placing a hand on the young boy's head. Looking at the woman, he said, "We'll do everything we can to find them, and bring them back."

* * *

Malcolm and Trip were dropped at Blasius' feet, erecting a dust cloud as their bodies hit the dirt. Blasius laughed, throwing his head back. But as he bent down over them, his eyebrows knotted together.

"Unacceptable!" he howled, bounding to his feet. He stuck his right foot out, displaying his boot to the guards. "Are you waiting for an invitation, or am I suppose to do this myself?" he scoffed haughtily, hiking up his long coat as he turned his foot over to display the damage.

"Sorry, sir," croaked one of the flustered guards. Then he grabbed one of the slave servants and threw him too the ground. The slave pulled out a rag from his leather pouch and began polishing. "It will not happen again," apologized the guard, bowing his head.

"See that it doesn't," replied Blasius, pulling his foot back. Then he turned to Trip and Malcolm, now on their feet. He looked them over with mock sympathy, fingering their dirty clothes with a sigh.

Trip drew his head back when Blasius reached for his face. A guard, hand laced through the commander's hair, yanked his head back. "This is the one from yesterday," informed the guard. "The one with the big mouth."

"The one with the all the spunk?" asked Blasius, running a hand down Trip's face, caressing his cheek and holding his chin. The guard nodded, provoking a smile from his leader.

Trip tried to move away.

"Don't," warned Blasius, shaking his head. "It's so unbecoming." Then he stepped back, roughly releasing Trip's chin. "Tie him up!" ordered Blasius with a flick of his wrist.

The guard obeyed, dragging Trip to the wheel.

"No!" cried Malcolm, but he stopped himself immediately. Memories from the previous night slammed into his mind. Speaking up would only make if worse for his friend. As hard as it was for Malcolm, he kept his mouth closed. He bit his lip till he drew blood. Anything to keep himself from repeating last night's incident.

Trip's shirt was removed, then he was thrown against the wheel by the guard. Being too sick to fight back, he decided he didn't have to help either. He used his sickness as an aid and let his body go limp, making it difficult for the guard to strap him to the spokes. It was a small thing, but frustrating the guard gave him a little joy.

And when the guard raised Trip's arm to tie to a spoke, the commander let it fall to his side. He even let his knees buckle, playing the role of the passive resistor. It finally took four guards to get the commander into position. Two of them tied him up, as the other two held him upright.

And when the show was over, and the guard was in positionâ€”whip in hand...

Malcolm closed his eyes.

The slaves watched in silence from their knees.

And Blasius admired his manicured nails.

Trip heard the crack of the whip. His muscles tensed.

Nothing.

Crack.

Nothing again.

Trip gritted his teeth. The guard was toying with him. The commander pressed his forehead against the rim of the wheel and heard someone laugh, either the guard with the whip or Blasius, he couldn't be sure. And he didn't much care. He just wanted it over with. And the sooner they started, the sooner he would get his wish.

"Oh, I bet you'd just love to get a piece of me now, wouldn't you boy?" teased Blasius, stroking the bare back of the slave on the wheel. And when Trip opened his eyes, Blasius was smiling back mockingly. "You're a fighter aren't you?" the tyrant asked. "I can see it in your eyes. But you won't be for very long. Zenill here will make sure of that," he finished, turning to the guard with the whip.

Crack.

Trip squeezed his eyes shut. But again, nothing.

"Oh, I'm so enjoying this," sang Blasius. "You see, the anticipation can be so much worse than the punishment itself, don't you agree?" He paused, cleared his throat. "When I'm done with you, they're gonna crown you the 'Ghost of Hexite'. Through you, I will teach everyone who the Almighty is around here."

Trip swallowed hard and turned away.

Blasius stepped back slowly, smoothing down his coat. "You may proceed, Zenill," he said, the words rolling off his tongue like syrupâ€”thick with disdain and repulsion.

Crack.

Malcolm's eyes flew open.


	5. Chapter 5

> Here we are, gentlemen. Plenty of blood around as you will see!  
> Problem is, it's in the wrong fucking place.
> 
> -Christopher Hudson, 'The Killing Fields'

With much effort, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed hoisted the large, precisely chiseled concrete slab into place. His new work partner, immensely weaker than him, grimaced outwardly, rubbing his shoulder as he rotated it behind his back. Commander Tucker wouldn't have had problems with that. Reed thought bitterly, looking at his partner disdainfully.

The fact that, Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker, wasn't there made Reed hate the new guy even more. It was like Trip had been physically exchanged. But to the armory officer, Trip was Trip, and could never be properly replaced.

But to the new guy's defense, Reed could tell he had been there a lot longer than either he or the commander. He was emaciatingly thin, his ribs and hip bones protruding. And he had not even introduced himself either. He had not spoken a word. Reed assumed his new partner was afraid to speak. Possibly afraid to reveal his true intelligence, opting to save his life and hide behind ignorance and silence.

It was nearly sundown, which meant they would soon be herded back underground and, Reed hoped, he would see the engineer again. After the beating, Blasius had left Trip strapped to the wheel, unconscious, bleeding and exposed to the sun's burning rays.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. But for Reed and Trip, it was definitely the one time that would not be forgotten. Lashes and torturous interrogation periods were quite common, but until this day, neither the commander or lieutenant had been on the direct receiving end.

And as far as Reed knew, Trip was still strapped to the wheel, displaying the cold hearted abhorrence of their captor. When it had all been over, when Blasius and the guard Zenill had had their fill, Reed and the rest of the slaves had been sent back to work with the lesson fresh and lingering in their minds.

But Reed couldn't shake the images, no matter how hard he tried to preoccupy his mind. He worked with vigor, with energy, with a purpose. Anything to keep himself from charging Blasius and his men and ripping their limbs off. Because in the end, he knew that would get him no where, aside from a one way ticket to hell.

Reed also knew he couldn't take on Blasius' entire retinue, which he would have to do if he did attack. Because sure enough the guards would exact their revenge on the remaining innocent prisoners. And even in the after life, Reed knew he couldn't live with himself if he caused the death of another prisoner at 'Chateau HellHole'.

So Reed resigned himself to work and wait until he could return to the cave. He had to believe Trip would be there, most likely severely wounded, but at least there. And when the guards called for the roundup of slaves, Reed was the first in line.

But it seemed to take forever to gather everyone this evening, as if the other prisoners were purposely taking their time filing into their designated groups. Eventually his cave mates were all present and accountant for, so their assigned guards shuffled them towards the underground entranceway.

But as much as Reed had been anticipating this moment, when it finally came, he couldn't move. The sudden realization that Trip may not be there, finally dawned on him. Reed had hoped so much that he would see him again. So much in fact, that he began to believe that indeed he would. The possibility of otherwise seemed unreal, till now.

When a guard shoved him from behind, Reed finally took a step forward, falling into place with the other slaves. He was in a daze, shaking, his mouth dry. Oh please, please, for the love of all things decent, please let Trip be there. He prayed silently as he followed the guards on weak legs. And when they passed through the compound, passed the wheel against the wall, Reed's anxiety intensified.

The wheel was bare.

Reed didn't know if that was a good sign, but hoped it was. He thought about asking one of the guards if they knew anything, but decided against it, not sure if he was truly ready to know.

When they reached the opening to the underground cave network, Reed hesitated before stepping into the gaping maw. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and not just because the temperature had suddenly dropped. He could feel his neck hairs standing on end, and his pace slowed once again. The closer he got to his cavern, the more worried he became, his anxiety growing with each precarious step.

Oh please let him be there.

Slowed almost to a crawl, the other prisoners bumped and jostled him as they passed by, eager to get to their beds. Reed didn't care. He was too deep in silent prayer to take notice of them.

Just let him be there. I'm not asking for much. You don't have to heal him, just let him be there. Trip doesn't deserve to die like this. No one does. Well, maybe Blasius, but that's another story. Right now, I'm begging, I'm pleading, just let Trip be there. I swear, I'll never run my mouth off again, ever, if you let Trip be in there.

Having said his piece, Lieutenant Reed closed his eyes. Running a hand along the dirt wall for direction and support, he continued toward the opening to his cavern. Then the wall disappeared under his touch. He had finally reached his destination.

He froze.

Reed didn't think he could do it, but it was now or never. And since the guards were yelling at him to get a move on, he really had no choice. Tentatively, he stepped up to the cave's opening, stopping short of actually entering. He could see inside, but not completely, the dirt walls of the entranceway hid at least sixty percent of the internal view.

Trying to gather enough strength to make the last step of his journey, Reed drew in a deep breath, holding it as his right hand reached down to clutch his belt buckle.

The other prisoners had already entered, leaving him alone at the mantle with his hesitations. Reed tried to read their reactions, to see if they would show him any indication that his friend was in the cave. But they didn't care. For all Reed knew, the prisoners in the cave wanted Trip deadâ€”and him too for that matter. They hadn't forgiven them for the other night's incident, and most likely never would. Most of them didn't even look back as they settled in for the night.

All except one.

One man took the time to pause, turn around and lock eyes with Reed. And Reed stared back, begging with his eyes for any indication that Trip was in the cave. The man finally smiled, or sneered, Reed couldn't tell. And before he had a chance to study it further for what it was, the man had turned away.

Reed gritted his teeth, made one more desperate plea, and took the last step. Realizing he still didn't have the view he so needed, he took another step forward, his heart slamming against his chest. And when he saw no sign of Trip in front of him, he turned around quickly. For now that he was actually there, not even his own fear could hold him back from finding his friend any longer.

He spun himself around, his eyes searching every crevasse and corner of the dim cave. Finally stopping, Reed balled his hands into fists in front of his chest, closed his eyes and drew in a very deep breath. As he let it slowly escape his lips, he re-opened his eyes and turned them heavenward.

"Thank you," he whispered, his whole heart behind the simple, yet most profound words.

* * *

Another long strenuous day had passed, but this time the search parties had gotten somewhere. As Archer and the rest of the groups gathered around the fire to discuss tomorrow's activities, there was a certain feeling of accomplishment. They had been searching for days, but it wasn't until now, this day, they had learned something directly related to finding their people.

Earlier that day, hope had dawned on a leafy bush near a river. Ensign Hoshi Sato had found the abandoned articles of clothes, tri-corders and communicators belonging to the commander and lieutenant.

The discovery had exhilarated the rest of the crew, making it hard for Archer to convince his particular party that now, more than ever, they needed to proceed carefully.

Especially now that they had learned more about the planet's political situation.

Someone was trying to create a new world. And their solution to future reprisals was to eradicate any and all forms of intellectualism. Someone wanted a world of subservient slaves, ones that were not and would never be able to enlighten themselves. Schools, businesses, culture and technologies were being destroyed by any means possible. Even it that meant killing whole families, regardless of age, sex or social status.

The remainders were left to be ruled.

Over the next few days the search parties would really be put to the test. Everything StarFleet had taught Archer's crew, or tried to teach them, would come into focus now, and they would have to set the example for the others. If they were going to successfully rescue Reed, Trip and the presumed rest, they would have to push ahead with extreme caution.

Archer knew this, and he knew the rest of the search parties did as well, but in their eagerness they tended to want immediate action. And Archer could not blame them. He wanted his crewmen back, and he wanted them back now. And not to belittle his armory officer, but an even bigger part of him wanted his best friend back. But immediate action was not on the menu quite yet, diligent discipline was still being enforced.

But the constant reminders that they merely knew which direction to go, not a precise map, finally sunk into the heads of the anxious searchers. And now they were sitting around the fire discussing how to proceed, and how they were all too excited to sleep.

Archer watched his own crew members with pride. On whole, the parties had merged together, but his people kept themselves separateâ€”their minds reeling and devising on their own level.

And as Archer's thoughts and memories about his crew members became more rampant, a smile spread across his face.

* * *

He saw Trip lying on his back with his arms spread above his head haphazardly, as if discarded like a piece of trash. His shirt had been returned to his back, which Reed could only imagine caused a severe chaffing to Trip's already burning skin.

But he was there. Trip was there.

But was he alive?

Reed couldn't tell as he stood in the middle of cavern. He couldn't see the rhythmic rising and falling of his friend's chest that usually pronounced breathing and life. Heart in throat, Reed ran for his friend. But in his haste, he dropped to the ground carelessly and collided with his friend's prone body, his knees making contact with Trip's side. Reed winced as the body grimaced.

Reed took that as a good sign and let out a deep breath. "Commander?" he asked, as his hands clumsily tried to remove his friend's shirt.

He wanted to take it off, let the commander's skin feel air as opposed to the harsh reality of coarse dried sweat on cloth. But in Reed's frantic want to relieve his friend, his hands maneuvered like big giant mitts. He fumbled, his adrenaline and anxiety growing, and making his task that much more difficult.

Finally, after several damnable curses, Reed ripped the shirt up to reveal Trip's bare chest. In the dim light Reed couldn't see any damage. No bruises or dried blood.

But it was Trip's back that would display those.

Not wanting to further aggravate his friend, but not really having a choice, Reed carefully rolled Trip over. This caused further moans to escape his friend's lips, but he still didn't open his eyes. And Reed cringed, apologizing as he caused further pain to his friend. But he knew in the end Trip would be thankful. And that thought allowed Reed to continue.

He turned Trip onto his stomach, positioning his head to the side, and lowering his hands to his sides.

Reed paled as he saw the full extend of Blasius' madness. Not enough time had passed for the open wounds to completely heal themselves closed, protecting Trip's internal systems from infection and aggravation.

Reed turned his head away. There was so much blood. Too much blood. He couldn't even see where the whip had made contact, only their devastation and cruel effects.

And the whole time Trip had been strapped to that wheel, experiencing the excruciating pain of the whip, Reed had kept his eyes open. As a friend, he felt he had no right to close them. He had to watch. He had to share in his friend's pain. If not directly, vicariously.

And Reed had not blinked. Not even when the blood dripping from the whip's end splattered back on his face. As far as Reed was concerned, he owed it to Trip to feel just as much pain. And standing there watching, with no way of stopping it, was Reed's way of feeling that pain.

But now as he looked over the extend of his commander's injuries, he knew that forcing himself to watch was in no way equal to what his friend had experienced.

And Trip would have to live with this pain the rest of his life, scars and allâ€”carried on his back as a constant reminder. At least Reed could hide his scars. Put on a friendly face, and hide his memories. There was only so much Doctor Phlox would be able to do for Trip.

Trip's scars would be there for everyone to see, and ask questions. Never letting him forget. A burden for him to carry.

Reed gritted his teeth, turning back to his friend; unconscious and still before him. It was one thing to bandage a wound, or splint a broken arm, but this was way out of his league. And even if he did know what to do, there was nothing to do it with. No water. No clean cloths. Nothing.

Nothing to do but sit there on his knees, head clasped between his hands, willing him to get better. But of course, mind control wasn't one of Reed's attributes, so all he did was stare.

"Did I win?"

Reed nearly jumped out of his skin. .

"Did I win?" Trip repeated, his voice slow and weak.

Reed was barely able to understand, and placed a hand on the back of Trip's head, the only spot he could think of that wouldn't cause any pain. "Yes, Commander," he said quietly. "You won."

His eyes straining to stay open, Trip shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable, but the movement only caused him to grimace. "What does the other guy look like?" he forced, with a pained smile.

"Just lie still," proscribed Reed, astounded by his friend's ability to retain a sense of humour through this. "Just lay still, and it'll be all better."

Trip nodded, barely, as Reed watched his eyelids flutter and close.

Reed braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself up with determination. He looked about the cavern, and noticing no one seemed to be heeding them any attention, he knew he would have to look elsewhere for help. And even though it was a longer shot than a Vulcan joining a Glee Club, he had to try.

Reed spun on his heel and marched to the cavern opening.

The moment he stepped into the cave hallway, he was grabbed by a guard and thrown against the wall forcefully. "Where do you think you're going?!" hissed the guard, his massive body pressing against him.

"My friend needs help," stated Reed, trying not to show the guard how uncomfortable he was. The rough stone of the cave's wall was digging into his back, and the arm wedged into his throat wasn't helping either.

"And that should concern me how?" asked the guard, void of any pity or remorse.

The armory officer swallowed hard. Honestly, he couldn't think of a single reason why it should be this guard's concernâ€”other than mortal decency. But somehow, Reed didn't think that approach would get him very far. So, he looked over the guard's shoulder, trying to think of something...anything...to help his situation.

Then he noticed the guard was uncharacteristically alone. But for how long, Reed didn't know.

"You don't look like the type of guy who likes extra work," started Reed, placidly stroking the shoulders of the over-developed guard. "And breaking in a new prisoner sure sounds like work to me."

The guard leaned back slightly, releasing some of the tension between the two bodies. Eyeing him sideways, he replied, "What are you getting at?"

Reed cleared his throat. "Well, as I see it," he started, licking his lips nervously. "If my friend in there dies, that means Blasius is going to be one man short in the slave labor department. Which means..." Reed paused, hoping the guard would pick up on the implications.

Bloody fool. Reed thought, shaking his head. "You're going to have to go out there and find more prisoners," he continued, matter-of-factly.

The guard scrunched his face, stepping back further as he released his grip. "Go on."

Reed straightened his shirt. Then he leaned forward just enough to get in the guard's face, but not enough to threaten him. "You seem to have it quiet nice here, am I right?" he asked sagaciously.

The guard looked around and nodded. "Yeah, pretty good. Get'n work is hard these days, and Blasius feeds us well, keeps a roof over our heads."

Reed couldn't believe he was making polite small talk with this despot. "Face it," he continued, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. "You got it made here at 'Palace Blasius'."

The guard blushed, kicking absently at the graveled ground. "Yeah," he grinned, sheepishly. "It is pretty good."

Reed nodded his head with a mischievous smile, pointing a finger at the guard to force his point. "Yes, it's a pretty nice set up you've got going. But...And I do stress this part, so listen carefully. What's it like out there when you're hunting for more prisoners...?" Reed nodded his head as he saw the light forming behind the guard's eyes. "Yeah, yeah...Isn't too nice is it?"

"Bad food," mumbled the guard. "Sleeping in the rain..."

"And I'm pretty sure those prisoners don't come along easily either," added Reed.

"No, they don't," agreed the guard. "One of them actually bit me!" he stated, pointing to the teeth marks on his right forearm.

Reed shook his head in mock disgust. But the guard didn't allow Reed too much time in his reveries, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

"But what does this have to do with me?" snarled the guard, quickly dropping his friendly demeanor.

Reed squirmed under the grasp, but managed to keep his cool. "If you help me, possibly get me some water and some cloth, I may be able to keep my friend alive. Then you wouldn't have to go out and find a replacement." Reed paused, but wasn't receiving any sort of response from the guard. "No one has to know!" he rushed, trying to further his position. "It'll be our little secret."

The guard contemplated this for a moment as Reed watched closely, noticing the reflection of many ideas floating through his mind. Finally, the guard released his grip, tossing Reed toward the cavern's entrance.

"I'll see what I can do," he replied with a grunt. "Now get back in there before the others return."

Reed didn't want to press the issue any further. So, with nothing but hope he had gotten through, he rushed back into the cavern and re-took his vigil beside his commander.

His friend hadn't moved since he had left, but he was still breathing, and that became Reed's security blanket. As long as Trip was breathing, Reed believed he would be all right. It was all he had to hold onto.

It was quite some time before everyone in the cavern fell asleep. Trip had woken up a few times, but only briefly enough to say a few incoherent words then fall back asleep. But Reed remained wide awake, waiting eagerly for the guard's possible return. And when he did, Reed felt a huge weight released from his shoulders.

The guard approached him apprehensively, carrying a bucket of water. He placed it beside Reed, then proceeded to pull a cloth from inside his shirt. "I had to hide this," explained the guard, handing it to Reed.

The prisoner nodded and took the cloth gingerly, keeping a careful eye on the guard. It was a weird situation, having one of the evil minions helping the help, so Reed waited for something to go wrong. But since nothing had so far, he thanked the guard and dipped the cloth into the water. He wrung it out, and carefully unraveled it. Gently, he placed the cool, wet cloth on Trip's back.

The body winced, then settled as the cooling effects of the cloth sunk into the skin and wounds. Reed proceeded with this as the guard, squatting next to him, watched quietly. After some time, Reed had forgotten he was there. So when the guard nudged him in the arm, he flinched.

"So, how is he?" asked the guard, quietly but with determination.

So, there's decency in you after all. Thought Reed, as he smiled back at the guard. "I don't know," he replied, re-dipping the cloth. "But this will definitely help."

"Good," answered the guard, then quickly cleared his throat and jumped to his feet. He reached for the bucket and carried it towards the fire burning in the center of the cavern.

Reed, caught off guard, spun on his knees to confront the guard. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, adrenaline surging through his veins.

But the guard showed no threatening nature as he turned back to Reed. "I can't leave here without the bucket," stated the guard, indicating the fire. "There had to be a good reason for me to bring it in. There are other guards out there now...And this was our little secret, remember?"

Reed looked at Trip. He was still in need of medical attention, but the guard had a point. All his help would be for naught if the other guards knew what was going on and came in here and killed everyone anyway.

So Reed nodded, watching as his precious bucket of water was emptied onto the burning fire. And when the guard had finished vanquishing the embers, he strutted out of the cavern, pausing only to nod in Reed's general direction.

And as Reed turned back to his friend, he could hear a faint voice in the cave hallway saying, "The fire was get'n too big...had to put it out. Don't want them get'n too soft in there."

Reed sighed and leaned back against the cavern wall. There was still a long night ahead for him, for both of them, for all of them, and he wanted to stay awake to keep an eye on his friend. But he knew that was impossible. The stress and physical exertion of the day was beginning to take it's toll, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

He forced them open, remembering a little something he had so carefully hidden on his possession earlier that day.

Reaching into his shirt, Reed slowly pulled out the coil of rope. "My little friend," he said, kissing the rope with earnest. Then he positioned himself over Trip's body. "If anyone tries to take you tonight, Commander," he said under his breath as he wrapped one end of the rope around Trip's torso, just low enough not to interfere with the wounds. "I'll know about it."

Then he tied the rope off, and the other end to his own torso, carefully concealing it under his shirt. He settled himself down next to his friend, covering the exposed rope with the dirt from the cave's floor.

It wasn't much, and Reed didn't know how he would be able to fight anyone off, or even it he would be killed in the process, but it was something. And it would make sleep that much easier on this particular night.

Reed grasped his friend's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it and closing his eyes. "No one can say Lieutenant Malcolm Reed breaks his promises," he said, taking in a deep breath. "I will get us out of here."

Then he let himself drift off into the land of nod.

* * *

Scouts arrived at the break of dawn, having traveled though the night to reach the main core. They were greeted by Archer and the others with mixed feelings. Some were anxious and ready to continue forth, but others were beginning to realize the true implications of the breaking day.

Archer was of the latter. It was one thing to search, it was another to rescue. And he still didn't know what would be waiting when they did find the missing people.

Would they be hostages? Would they be alive? Would they even be there? Where ever there was, they still weren't accurate on that. And these questions stemmed most of the conversations that morning as the search parties geared to set out.

"I only followed a short distance," a scout was saying to another Hexite as Archer and Hoshi listened. "So really, I only know the general direction in which they started out."

"And they could have altered from that course at any time," added Archer, slowly letting his breath out.

"Exactly," stated Hoshi, with an affirmative nod.

"We were able to gather a little information ourselves," offered another scout, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from a pouch fastened on his belt. "We've seen and heard several reports of massive supply troops traveling through the country side."

"Do you have any idea where they were going?" asked Archer.

The Hexite scout scratched his head thoughtfully, causing his hat to tilt askew on his head. "Vague directions," he replied, fixing his headdress with a frown. "But from what you've seen, it looks like the two positions collide...Just off this river here," he said, pointing to the map section of his paper.

Hoshi and Archer studied the map, trying to memorize it's details. They were in relatively unfamiliar territory now. They had traveled outside the boundaries previously scanned into their tri-corders.

"So, you think we should follow this route?" asked Archer, tracing his finger along the river, due north of their position marked on the map.

The Hexite nodded. "The river's in the same direction," he replied, pulling the map from Archer's grasp. He tucked it back into his pouch, closing the clasp carefully. "I have to get my people ready now," he said, nodding and spinning on his heel to leave.

Archer watched him make his way through the crowd gathering his people. Then he noticed a familiar face break from the group. "Hey, T'Pol," he said, as she approached. T'Pol nodded her greeting. "So, are we ready to go?" he asked.

"I'm ready," replied Hoshi, bracing her hands on her hips, giving her head a nod. "Everyone else is pretty much too."

T'Pol kept her stoic facade as she nodded, but inside, a certain feeling began to manifest in her stomach. She couldn't describe it, but it wasn't pleasant. She quickly shook her head and tried to ignore it, pushing it away as thoughts of the impending rescue took over her mind. She refused to believe that she could actually be, missing, her crew members.

* * *

"Just passing through," re-iterated one of the men.

Reed nodded and peered into the back of the cart. He noted the two men had an obviously large load under the cover, but as he curiously started to pull it back...

Mistake number five: expect the unexpected.

A crushing pain exploded at the base of his neck. Reed woke with a start. His body shot into the sitting position, his skin dripping with sweat as his heart pounded in his chest. It had been the same dream.

And each time he woke from it, his mouth tasted like he had just licked the soles of a thousand pairs of boots. He licked his lips, tried to scrape the thick fuzz that had accumulated on his tongue. Then he felt a cold shiver run through his body.

The cave was still dark, but he could see forms moving about like ghosts; silent and slow. He leaned around his arm to check on Trip. He was still there, but Reed could see him shivering. Quickly, he rolled onto his knees to examine his friend better.

But it was difficult to see anything other than the outline of the body. Reaching tentatively, Reed felt the back of Trip's neck. It was cold. And now that he was touching him, he could feel the full extent of Trip's shivers. He was nearly convulsing.

The cavern was freezing.

Having had the fire extinguished the night before, the normal morning chill was down right unbearable. And now that Reed was coming down from his night sweats, he was also starting to feel the cold. He looked over his other shoulder to the fire pit and untied himself from Trip. He decided to get it going again. But as he approached, his heart sank.

He could feel the mushy ground beneath his feet, indicating the pit was still wet. There was no way he was going to get a fire started here. Damning everything he could think of, Reed returned to his commander.

He was still asleep, or at least gave the impression of one asleep, but his body shook violently as the cold penetrated his bones. Reed chewed on his lower lip, looking around the cavern for something to burn. His hands braced on his hips, he tapped on his waist absently. Then it occurred to him. And it was right at his finger tips.

Quickly, Reed undid his empty utility belt. Then he proceeded to undo the belt on his pants. He held both out in front of him, grasping them with earnest. "Yes!" he cheered, through gritted teeth.

He ran to the fire pit, searching for long sticks that had not succumbed to the previous fire. When he found two relatively dry ones, he began to prepare them. He wrapped his utility belt around one end of a stick and carried it to the other side of the cave where he plunged it into the ground. Then he broke off a small twig from the stick and placed it on a nearby rock. Swiftly, and with practiced accuracy, Reed banged a rock on the twigs tip, igniting it after several attempts.

Carefully, and with steady hands, Reed moved the inflamed twig towards his makeshift torch. The leather ignited, and he smiled. It didn't give off much light, and it had a rather rancid stench, but it would emanate heat longer than the damp stick alone, which was more important.

As he turned to head back to the pit to gather the makings of his other torch, he felt a hand grasp him gently on the arm. His head swiveled to face a young man leaning close to the torch.

"Thank you," said the man, before releasing his grip and falling back into the darkness.

Reed closed his eyes and let the words move through him. It was amazing what two little words could mean to someone. And right now, they meant the world to him.

With renewed energy, he nearly ran back to the fire pit. He quickly gathered his impromptu tools and headed to Trip. As he knelt down beside him, he noticed that Trip had moved. He was now facing him, his right hand lying beside his face, but his eyes were still closed.

"Commander?" asked Reed, not sure if he would get a response. Since there wasn't, he proceeded to fashion the next torch.

* * *

He wasn't sure when he had crossed over from the world of the unconscious to the conscious, but Trip Tucker could definitely feel the difference. In sleep he was at peace; no pain, no reminders. No cold. No fear. But awake, all those things bombarded him, encompassing him in their relentless tentacles and invading every part of his body.

But Trip didn't have the energy to push them back, to fight them off. He wanted sleep. He wanted to slip away quietly into the darkness and safety of oblivion. But a noise caught his attention; a soft scuffling of boots on gravel, and the unmistakable sounds of breathing.

Then he felt something on the back of his neck. But he couldn't identify it, his back was too numb to feel much more than the stinging welts from the whip. All Trip knew was that it was reassuring. He liked it, and he felt his heart drop when it eventually removed itself.

Taking several deep breaths, which caused considerable pain as his back expanded and contracted, Trip slowly lifted his head, turning to face the other direction. He forced his eyes open, and stared out at the dark expanse of the cavern.

As he lay there, trying to make sense of the figure moving about the cavern, a piece of his hair fell into his eyes. He tried to blow it away, but his efforts were futile. And the more he tried, the more the arrogant lock of hair bothered him. It tickled his forehead, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand having it rest there.

Drawing from his remaining strength, Trip slowly drew his arm up the side of his body, wincing inwardly at the pain. His hand lying aside his face, he flicked his wrist, throwing the hair off his face.

But he only experienced a moment's pleasure before reality returned. The pain and coldness became evidently clear once again. Trip could see his own hand trembling before his eyes as he lay there staring. It was mesmerizing, and he remained that way for quiet some time, just watching his own hand, dirty and shaking.

It wasn't until he saw a small spark across the cavern that his eyes flickered. Then he heard soft muffled voices in the distance. Moments later he saw, and felt, Reed kneel beside him. Trip closed his eyes, letting the security of his friend's presence lull him into a peaceful quiet. He heard his name, but didn't have the energy to respond. And by the time he finally opened his eyes, Reed was no longer paying him any attention.

Trip watched in confusion. He saw Reed drive a large stick into the ground. Then he watched Reed study something in his hands. It was long and dark, with a silver clasp attached to one end. Trip tried to identify the object, and when Reed held it up to his mouth, letting his eyes close as he gently kissed the silver clasp, Trip recognized the buckle. It was the one he had given him.

But what was Reed doing with it now? Why had he removed it?

And what shocked Trip more, was that Reed removed the clasp and buried it in the ground by his knees. Trip kept his eyes trained on the spot where his friend had buried his treasure.

For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why Reed had just done that. But a few moments later, he had a reasonable idea. Reed had hid the buckle, hopefully for safe keeping, and used his belt as a torch.

Trip could feel it's heat licking at his body. It felt good. It felt warm. And Trip momentarily forgot what the armory officer had just sacrificed to keep him, Trip the-never-ending-burden, warm. He closed his eyes and let the warmth envelope him.

* * *

Reed, satisfied with the second torch, stood up and surveyed the room. Several more people were up now, instinctively migrating to the heat stick across the room. But as cold as it was, and as little heat as the torch gave off, no one ventured to the one before him.

He and Trip were still the most feared men in the cavern. Nobody wanted to be seen near them.

For some reason this didn't bother Reed as much as it might have. For if they had gathered around his commander's torch, they may have taken away the heat in which his friend so dearly needed. Reed sighed and turned back to his friend. Then he remembered the rope still tied around Trip's torso.

He paused for several beats after untying it, trying to decide what to do with the rope. Then realizing there was nothing holding his pants up any longer, Reed laced the rope through his pant loops and fashioned himself one ugly belt. But he was satisfied. Now it would serve a purpose both day and night.

If there was another night.

The thought came slamming into Reed's mind like a phase canon. What was to become of Trip now that day had broke?

His eyes wide, his hand quickly rising to his forehead, Reed turned to Trip.  
"Holy shit," he breathed, unimaginable thoughts screaming through his mind.  
"How on earth are you going to make it through the day?"

* * *

The map, in conjunction with the new found directions, had proven fruitful. The search party had finally found salvation.

And as the scouting party stood, crested on the top of a large hilltop looking down into the valley, each member felt in their own way the full implications of what they were up against.

Below, encompassed by two jagged hills, a forest and a rushing river, was a site that left them all feeling small. Nothing in life had prepared any of them for what they were witnessing. And even some of the Hexites found themselves gaping and covering their mouths as they took in all that was below in the valley.

They had found Blasius and all his massive power, despotism and inhumanity.

They just hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him yet, or knowing his name. Or even understanding what they were looking at. They just knew the people they were looking for were down there. Prisoners in someone's evil scheme.

Archer turned away clutching his stomach, and stumbled a few steps down the hill. Moments later, the rest of the scouting party did the sameâ€”removing themselves from direct eyesight of the men below. Archer felt someone beside him, and he looked up to see his Sub-Commander standing above him. He closed his eyes, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he tried to fight back the urge to throw up.

"Captain," began T'Pol. "Now, more than ever, you must pull everyone together. You must be strong...For their sake."

Archer nodded from his bent position and drew in a deep breath. When he finally stood, he realized he hadn't been the only one so strongly affected. Several others were bent over, clutching their stomachs. While others were standing rod straight, their faces white and expressionless. Archer clenched his jaw and nodded. "I can do this," he whispered. "I will do this...For Malcolm and...Trip," he finished, locking eyes with the Vulcan.

"Good," replied T'Pol. "Because if this plan is going to work, we need you in top form. We must keep strong, and do this correctly and precisely. There isn't room for mistakes. No room for questions. And no place for insecurities."

Archer nodded, unable to voice his agreement due to the incredibly large lump in his throat. Solemnly, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Trip and Reed were down there. He just knew it. He could feel it, stronger than anything he had ever felt before. And he wished he could turn back time, go back to that day his friends disappeared, and do it all over again. For what he had just seen, what he had just witnessed in the valley below, was enough to break even the strongest man.

In the short time he had stood on that perch, on top of the hill looking down into the valley, Captain Archer had seen the most horrific, desperate and heartless scene he could imagine. There was nothing in the universe worse than a bonded spirit. And that's what genocide and slave labor was. And his friends were in the heart of it all enduring it first hand.

"We're coming," Archer whispered into the air, hoping somehow it would be carried in the breeze to the ears it was intended. "We're coming. Just hold on."


	6. Chapter 6

> I feel alone. I'm such a long long way from home.  
> Feelin' lonely. Even though I'm never alone...  
> Sorry, I'm not the guy you thought I'd be.
> 
> â€”3 Deep, 'Chuckie's Song'

He stepped out of his tent into the early morning mist of the valley. It was a rare moment to find Blasius alone, unattended by slaves, servants and his precious guard, but he liked to keep this time of day to himself.

With the rising sun, came a new day. A new chance to accomplish his dreams. And Blasius so loved his dreams. Dreams of grandeur. Dreams of domination and power. Without them, he knew he would be nothing. For in all his arrogance, he thought his desire to rule the world separated him from the layman. He believed only a great man could have such dreams. And only a greater man was capable of executing them with as much precision as he.

He smiled wickedly as he closed his eyes and breathed in the early dawn air. It was warm and familiar. A smell he was greeted with each morning. And this morning it was even sweeter. For last night the guards had been very busy.

Blasius opened his eyes and stared out at the panorama before him. Pride coursed through his veins.

Part of the compound's floor had been excavated the day before by the workers, unbeknownst to them the true purpose of the gaping hole they were digging. Only a few knew its purpose. And as Blasius regarded them, a special few.

In actuality many people knew, only, he didn't care about themâ€”they were dead. They had come from nothing, been nothingâ€”until they had served their purpose with him. And in the end, Blasius had returned them to nothing. He took a certain pride in that. Like he was both the creator and destroyer of mortals. He would cast these people back to the stone age, and build a new people; illiterate and subservient to his rule.

And what he was doing now, what his men were doing per his orders, was destroying the waste of intellectuals. Removing any future threats and opposers towards his leadership. Wiping the discarded nothings from his hands.

Bodies; the tortured, desecrated and burned educated souls and their children who would have one day resented their leader, were being dumped into the large gapping pit. It was a mass funeral, and no one was invited.

Especially the lone figure standing on the opposite horizon watching from afar.

His two legs planted firmly on the ground, his arms crossed over his chest, Captain Jonathan Archer could not turn his eyes away. A grey mist, slow and dense, hovered over the valley floor like ghosts not ready to ascend into eternity. And Archer prayed for them, wishing them a peaceful journey.

Never in his life had he seen such an atrocity. It was co-ordinated evil.

The guards were rolling, kicking and dumping the bodies into the pit. Some even tossed them in like a game, cheering when they achieved nice distance and accuracy. And some were using the bodies for target practice.

Archer was appalled, and felt his anger rising. His muscles began to tense. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. It took all his self control not to scream until the planet shattered.

"The actions people are capable of..." started a voice behind Archer, quietly trailing off as the person approached.

Archer turned to see Sub-Commander T'Pol standing next to himâ€”her eyes wide, and he was sure, tinged with anger. For several moments he let the Vulcan stand and watch in silence.

"I get more confused by what the universe reveals to me each day," Archer said, returning his gaze to the valley.

His eyes fell upon an area to the side of the pit, where the bodies were piled high, waiting to be forsaken. Animals from the surrounding forest had approached, and were wandering the compound. Some had even found their way to the burial ground. It was a memorable siteâ€”wild animals eating charred bodies.

Archer shook his head turning back to T'Pol. "One day in life there shouldn't be any pain." He closed his eyes, thinned his lips. "I can grasp the concept that history repeats itself. But how ours repeats itself on another planet is beyond me...Cheung Eck," he finished quietly. "That's what we're looking at."

"Waiting Room for Death," interpreted T'Pol. And when Archer looked at her surprised, she nodded ever so slightly. "I'm fluent in many Earth languages, Captain. Including Khmer."

"If anything happens to my crew, someone will live to regret it," Archer seethed, not tearing his gaze from the valley.

"I think it's time," T'Pol replied.

* * *

The guards were coming.

Each morning the sound of boots clomping through gravel, and the grumbling of many unhappy men, usually sent a siren rushing through Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's brain: Get up! Get moving! But this morning, they were screaming something slightly different: What the bloody hell am I going to do?!

Reed grasped his head as if the act of pulling one's hair out would change the situation. He turned to Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker lying on the cave floor. His friend was still out cold, and Reed wasn't sure if he'd be able to wake him. Never mind the fact that Trip probably shouldn't get up in his condition.

But being left with few options, Reed dropped to his knees. "Commander," he whispered determinedly. "Come on, you can wake up...You have to wake up." He stopped shaking him long enough to check for a reaction, any reaction.

Trip furrowed his brow and coughed violently, sending his body into convulsions. Reed rolled him towards himselfâ€”onto his side, making it easier for Trip's body to absorb the pain, and placed a hand behind his head for support. "You okay?" he asked.

His crew mate nodded slowly, strained and weak "Now that my face isn't buried in the ground anymore."

Reed grimaced. "Sorry, but I thought you'd be more comfortable on your stomach."

Trip closed his eyes, nodded. "You know what?" he sighed, before painfully pulling away from Reed. "This is much worse. Your knees are in MY BACK!" he voiced determinedly. Then he threw himself forward onto his stomach again.

Someone was entering the cavern, so Reed negated his apology, spinning to see the guard from last night rushing towards him.

"Get him up," urged the guard, in a low harsh voice meant only for Reed. "Get him up now. I won't be alone very long. More guards are com'n."

Reed grabbed Trip by the belt, despite constant groans and repudiations, and hoisted him to his feet. After a moment the commander was finally able to stand on his own.

Trip stood rod straight, trying desperately not to make any motions that might cause movement to his skin or back. His eyes were glazed over with tears he didn't want to let fall. It was a look of desperation, of fear. Reed had only seen that look once before on him, which was why he was able to recognize it now. It was the same look Trip had given the day before...

When Trip had asked him to leave him alone in the compound and save himself.

But Reed hadn't abandoned him them, and he wouldn't abandon him now. The only thing that could make Reed leave his friend would be death itself. No matter how hard it was to look into his friend's face and tell him he had no answers, no relief...And barely any hope left.

"We're okay," acknowledged Reed, nodding to the guard. Trying his hardest to believe the words himselfâ€”as his heart filled with impending doom.

The guard jabbed a finger in Trip's direction. "If he wants to keep living, he better keep that act up. There ain't noth'n more I can do," he warned, staring at the blonde slave.

Reed nodded. "And again, thank you," he replied.

The guard held his stare with Reed a beat longer to acknowledge the gratitude, then he turned to join the rest of the guards now entering the cave. Reed bit his lip and slowly led Trip to the line of prisoners setting themselves up to leave.

* * *

By early afternoon Trip had found a nice shady place in which to lie down. Nice being the relative word. Nothing was nice in Blasius' compound, but as far as Trip was concerned, out of sight was the total embodiment of the word.

He and Reed had been sent to the gravel pit, which meant plenty of places one could bury themselves, and keep hidden from surveying eyes. And it also helped that Reed was nearby, and would warn him if anyone came close or started asking questions.

But at the moment Reed was preoccupied. He wasn't paying attention to Trip's safety, but rather to the guard that had just walked past. He had smiled. The guard had actually smiled. Nothing menacing or cynical, but a down to earth, friendly grin. Reed even thought, if only for a brief moment, that he had actually recognized the guard and had smiled back. But then reality stepped in and brought Reed back to the cruelty of Blasius' compound.

But for that brief moment, the moment the guard had flashed his pleasant smile, Reed was back onboard Enterprise. Back in his old familiar stomping grounds, casually strolling towards the armory and greeting crew members upon passing. It was a pleasant memory, and one that Reed was beginning to think he would never experience again. So thinking about it now only frustrated him deeply.

He decided to think about something else. And since there was a large rock before him, he decided to concentrate on that.

He lifted his sledge hammer high over his head, poised to crack the head of the rock when he pausedâ€”arms still raised, the hammer full of kinetic energy. Slowly, he turned to find the smiling guard and lowered the hammer.

He was gone. And so were several other guards that had been in the immediate area.

"Get back to work!"

Reed heard the warning and quickly raised his hammer. He didn't bother looking around for who had shouted the order. All he needed to know was that they were close, so he kept his eyes trained on the giant rock before him. Then he remembered something. Or more to the point, someone. Someone who was sleeping behind a nearby rock.

"Uh oh," he said, dropping the hammer behind his back

He set his jaw, his eyes darting back and forth. He didn't want to appear suspicious, but he had to check on Trip. He bolted for the large rock hiding his friend, forgetting who might be watching. But when he suddenly remembered his circumstances, he slowed his pace.

Rolling his neck, trying to get out the kinks as well as use it as an excuse to covertly glance about, he searched for prying eyes. A few guards were gathered to his left, but they had their backs to him. And in the distance, perched on top of several larger rocks, were more guards. But they didn't seem to be paying any attention to the workers either.

Reed took the risk. He quickened his pace, and upon reaching his friend's hiding place, he leaned over and looked down at the shaded area.

Empty.

"Oh shit."

* * *

Trip shifted and groaned, trying to find a position that would leave him in the least amount of pain. Unfortunately, when your back feels like it's on fire no position is comfortable. But Trip kept trying anyway, even though it caused him further misery and aggravation. Eventually, and after banging his head on the rock he was using for cover, he decided to stay put. He quit trying to do the impossible.

Quit.

The word reverberated around his brain, bouncing off memories and images and bringing them back to lifeâ€”vivid and real in his mind. That word's gonna be tattooed on my grave. He thought, rubbing his forehead on the loose stones of the gravel pit floor.

Trip was on his stomach. Lying on his back, although his preferred sleeping position, was the most painful. Even the extra layer of protectionâ€”the cloth Reed had left on his back over night, wasn't really helping. In fact, it was itching beyond belief. But Reed had not been able to remove it that morning. Over the course of the evening the cloth had dried to his back, his blood clotting and fusing with the makeshift bandage.

Trip had wanted Reed to remove it, to stop the itching. But in the end, Reed thought it wiser to leave it where it was. The cloth would act as a barrier between his skin and the course material of his sweat stained shirt.

But right now, as Trip lay behind the rock in the pit with nothing else to think about except his own misery, he was beginning to think the shirt would be a nice contrast.

It couldn't be any worse. He thought, slowly reaching a hand behind his back in attempts to peel away a corner of the bandage.

But the effort was too much. He dropped his hand beside his face and gave up, again. I just can't do anything right. He accursed himself, not for the first time in the last few weeks. Charles Tucker the III, the one who can't do anything right. Yeah. That's definitely gonna be tattooed on my grave.

Trip decided enough was enough. He wasn't going to be anyone's burden any longer. Not Reed's. Not Archer's. Not Enterprise's.

He knew Reed would have a better chance of escape if he didn't have to think about him. Reed was a brave man. A man destined to do great things, and lead people to great victories.

And Travis Mayweather, well, he was the best pilot this side of the universe, with the heart and determination of a hero. And Hoshi Sato, she had already proven herself more than once to Trip. T'Pol, well, she was a Vulcan.

And then there was Jonathan Archer. His best friend. But probably regretting bringing Trip aboardâ€”a chief engineer who needs to be watched over constantly.

That's what I am. A burden. Trip thought to himself, letting his eyes open. The only thing he could see was the dark grey outline of the rock before him. It was a bleak view, which suited Trip just fine. He felt like him and that rock shared some sort of connection.

The rock was nothing. No one would ever love it. It wasn't the son of some great bolder, nor was it destined to rule the gravel pit. It was just a rock. Grey. Bleak. Useless. And not about to become anything without the help of others. The rock would not be part of something bigger in life until someone came along and did something to itâ€”broke it down, smoothed it out, and turned it into a statue or brick.

The thought was sobering for Trip. I'm a rock. I'm nothing without my friends. Just a reckless engineer who people took into their lives. And what good has that done them? None. I can't even take care of himself, let along anyone else.

But he decided it was time that he did.

Bracing his hands beside his shoulders, he pushed himself up with a grimace. But as he stood, a certain memory flashed into his mind. It was him and Reed alone on ShuttlePod One.

Trip had finally accepted his inevitable destiny, and had chosen to sacrifice himself in the air lock before nature took it's nasty, cold course with his body. He had wanted to do the right thing, but when he had tried, he had eventually given up on that too. Trip couldn't even sacrifice himself correctly. And that could have cost Reed his life. No one had known Enterprise would find them in time.

Trip the burden.

But not any more. Thought Trip, leaning on the large rock for support as he tried to step around it.

But he was dizzy, and ended stumbling and sprawled on top of the rock instead of on the other side. And another memory was brought to life.

That day he had ignorantly become impregnated by the Xyrillian female came screaming into his mind. He had been trying to do the job any other engineer was capable of, but Trip just had to go that one step further and fraternize. No wonder no one took him seriously. Even T'Pol, the one crew member void of explicit emotions, now looked at him like nothing more than a tool. A nothing that could be replaced by any other StarFleet, or Vulcan, engineer.

Maybe people are right, Trip told himself, trying once more to make his way around the rock. I am nothing. And I'll most likely become nothing...

Well, I'm not going to be anyone's burden any longer. He declared to himself.

Slowly, Trip made his way around the rock. He glanced around the pit surveying for guards. When he saw a group gathered off to his right, he turned himself around and pushed off the rock. His intent was to free himself from Reed and give him a chance to survive. Charles Tucker the III was going to sacrifice himself to Blasius, so Reed wouldn't have to worry about him any longer.

Stumbling towards the guards, his back screamed for mercy, his vision blurred. But he pushed ahead anyway. This was one time he wasn't going to be a burden to anyone. It was his time to be someone.

His last act as a living man would be to help someone. He would help his friend Malcolm Reed.

The thought made his last journey, the lonely journey to his death across the pit, almost bearable. And when he collapsed into the unsuspecting arms of one of the guards, there was a smile, plain and evident on his silent face.

* * *

"Where'd he go?" queried Reed, spinning around to find his friend.

He spotted a man stumbling towards a group of guards. "Trip..."

Quickly, Reed sprinted after his friend. He wanted to catch him before he got himself killed. "What does he think he's doing?" he asked himself, as he ran, heart in throat.

But he was too late.

Reed was still several feet away when his friend collapsed into the arms of one of the guards. But Reed didn't hesitate. He only quickened his pace, reaching Trip just in time to stop the guards from pummeling his friend into oblivion.

"He's sorry!" pleaded Reed, pulling Trip from the guard's grip. "It must be this heat. It won't happen again." Reed held his friend upright, shielding Trip from the guards.

But Trip was being difficult.

"No," he slurred haphazardly, trying to step around Reed. "No. This is right...Just let me die."

"Today you're not dying," replied one of the guards.

Reed flashed an exaggerated grin. "He didn't mean that," he said, trying to keep himself between his commander and the guards. "Please, just ignore him." Then he paused, furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, did you say he wasn't going to die?"

"Just take care of him," replied the guard.

Reed blinked, momentarily forgetting his charge.

Trip stumbled and fell to the ground. But Reed only sparred him a fleeting glance. "Pardon me?" he said, starring at the guard who had issued the uncharacteristic words.

The guard leaned forward to help Trip to his feet. "It won't be long," he said, passing the fallen slave to a gapping Reed. "Just take care of him till it's time."

"What? What's going on? Who are you?" asked Reed, finding it difficult to form words with his mouth as dry as sand. His adrenaline was pumping hard, making his limbs shake. He couldn't understand. He couldn't make sense.

Then it struck him.

"You're from the village?" Reed asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the man. It had taken a moment, but now Reed was able to recognize the man dressed in one of Blasius' guards uniforms. This was the man that had told him about the secret fishing spot.

Reed was stunned, to say the least. And confused. Had this man set the whole thing up, or was he here to help?

"Yes, it is me," replied the man, raising a finger to his mouth to indicate the secrecy of the matter. "We're here to help. We're everywhere."

Once again all Reed could do was blink. Then he shook his head, looked to the other guards in the group. Two other familiar villagers and a woman. What's going on here? He asked himself, as the words died on his lips when he had tried to speak them aloud.

The man patted Reed on the shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Your friend needs your help," he said, nodding towards Tripâ€”now leaning heavily on Reed's shoulder. "He doesn't look well."

The lieutenant nodded, wrapped an arm around Trip's waist for support. He was beginning to loose consciousness again, and had stopped his efforts to charge the guards. Reed was grateful for that as he looked back to the man.  
"What...?"

The man smiled. "In good time. In good time. Just go about your day as if you never saw us."

* * *

Archer stood behind a thick tree-like trunk at the edge of the forest. He was well concealed. The rest of the search parties were lined up along the perimeter of the compound, each using the forest and hills as camouflage. It was late afternoon, the suns high in the sky making the day clear and bright. They were preparing, and waiting, for the final stage.

Early that morning, Archer's crew and town's folk had infiltrated the compound. Taking out the guards one by one till they had enough uniforms, they had replaced them and filtered back into the compound. It had been a very time consuming task, and very difficult. But men with a purpose could do any job if their minds were set. And the minds of these crew members, friends and relatives were more than just set.

They were hungry. Hungry for action. Hungry for retaliation. Hungry to see their loved ones returned and safe.

Archer was proud. Not only of his people and how they had risen to the challenge, but to each and every male and female present who was willing to put themselves in mortal danger to save the prisoners. He only hoped they would be rewarded with happy reunions.

No one knew for sure who was still alive. From their positions no one was able to recognize any particular prisoner. And there were plenty of prisoners to look through. But they were easily distinguished from the guards. They moved slow, staggered in the heat, and were dressed in rags or covered in filth. Most of the guards rode on huge animals, dressed in black leather and bore weapons.

Archer noted the weapons with concern. The prisoners would be caught in the middle of this, defenseless and weak. While all the time the battleâ€”which he was sure would ensueâ€”would rage around them. He prayed silently for their safety. To die now, right before their freedom, would be the greatest sadness of all.

"Captain."

He heard his name, turned to the tree a few paces to his right. "Yes, Ensign?" he replied, his voice low and controlled.

"Do you think this will work?" asked Hoshi, peeking her head around her tree nervously.

"We have to believe it will, or what's the point in following through?" replied Archer.

Hoshi nodded at the cryptic remark, then turned her attention back to the compound. They were waiting for the signal from T'Polâ€”one of the first to infiltrate the camp that morning.

Archer turned back to the compound. But he did notice Hoshi's body languageâ€”it was itching for retribution, for action, for Reed and Trip. Archer smiled, returning to his sentry duties with more confidence.

It was a short time later when they received the signal.

Hoshi had noticed it first. And using her strong communication skills, she let out a loud call that echoed throughout the valleyâ€”announcing to the other search party members the time had come. It was now or never. And for the sake of those prisoners in the compound, now was the preferred option.

Everyone tightened their jaws with vigor. Then, on Archer's command, everyone charged forthâ€”straight into the heart of the lion's preverbal den.


	7. Chapter 7

> The temperature is rising, the fever white hot.  
> Mister I ain't got nothing, but it's more than you've got.  
> These chains no longer bind me, nor the shackles at my feet.  
> Outside are the prisoners, inside the free...  
> Set them free.
> 
> â€”U2, 'Silver and Gold'

It only seemed like moments ago that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed and Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker had been sitting and eating their poor excuse for a meal. Well, Reed had been eating, Trip had just stared at his plate, hoping by some miracle the stale bread would jump up and swallow him whole.

He had tried again to convince Reed to leave him alone. To go away and save himself. But, like he had expected, Reed had refused, and Trip had just felt like a bigger burden. And now that everything was in an uproar, Trip's emotions had intensified.

Now was the perfect time for Reed to make a break for it, to run for the hills and save himself. But he wasn't. He was dragging him through the compound, through the clash of weapons, archaic projectiles permeating the air, rampaging animals and hardened terrain, and trying to save him as well.

Truth be told, Trip had no idea what was going on around him. But it was clear that this would be Reed's only opportunity to save himself. "Just go!" he yelled, trying to struggle free of Reed's persistent grip, but only finding himself more entangled in his friend's arms. "Leave me behind! I'm slowing you down."

"No!" cursed Reed, throwing his semi-incapacitated friend over his shoulder in the customary fireman's lift. "I'm not leaving you! Now shut up!"

Trip struggled further, but the pain coursing through his body deferred him. And it didn't help that Reed's shoulder was wedged into his stomach, making him feel more and more nauseous with each jolt. Finally, Trip's inner defense system shut down his senses and he passed over to the world of unconsciousness.

Reed continued on unaware. He could feel Trip heavy on his shoulder, and that was all he needed to know because there was too much going on around him to spare Trip any more attention.

They were lost and consumed in a raging battle.

Reed swatted a falling guard with his free hand as he made his way through the compound. The wrath of battle was all around him, and he couldn't distinguish the good from the bad. The only ones easily detectable were the other  
prisoners.

They were either running about like chickens with their heads cut off, or standing in the middle of it all without a clue what to do. Reed felt sorry for them, but he had made a choice. He knew he couldn't save them allâ€”that he would leave to the good guys. But he could save his commander. And he would save his commander. Even if that meant carrying him through this fight on his own.

So the battle ensued around him. Weapons against weapons. Projectiles against projectiles. Flesh against flesh. Bodies fell at his feet as he tried to maneuver around them. And even more bodies collided with him as they fought to keep their ground in their personal wars.

But Reed pressed on not sure where he was heading. It was complete chaos in the compound. Reed couldn't tell which way to go, which way to run. And Trip was really starting to get heavy.

Reed put him down next to a concrete slab, careful to lie him on his stomach. There was so much activity going on around him, he had to keep ducking to escape wild animals and people fighting. And he didn't even want to think about the long projectiles piercing the air.

Then he had no choice.

A searing pain in his left upper arm made the projectiles presence hard to ignore. Reed grabbed his arm, careful not to push the projectile deeper into his flesh. Clenching his teeth, he bit back the urge to cry out. Not that it would of mattered, there was so much noise one couldn't hear one's self think.

He looked at his new appendage. "Arrows?! These people are archaic," he said  
to himself sardonically.

Blood oozed from the wound, spilling over his fingers. His left arm was limp, useless, and his fingers were tingling as the blood slowed to reach them. Reed looked at the wound and grimaced. "Why now?!" he cursed, slowly wrapping the fingers of his right hand around the shaft of the arrow. He gave it a slight pull, shooting sharp pain up his arm and across his shoulder. The pain ran up his neck, ending in an explosion behind his eyes.

It was a loosely fastened arrowhead, Reed could tell. And if he tugged on it again the shaft would most likely come out, leaving the arrow head embedded in his arm.

So Reed knew what he had to do.

He glanced at Trip unconscious beside him, then closed his eyes. His thumb placed lower on the shaft, Reed snapped the wood as he pulled his fingers in the opposite direction as he was forcing his thumb. It was a clean, smooth break, and the arrow didn't move too much under his skin.

But the worse was still to come.

Several deep breathes later, Reed pressed the palm of his hand on the ragged end of the shaft. With gritted teeth, eyes squeezed tight, he held his breath.

Please don't let this hit bone. He prayed silently.

Then, in one forceful quick move, Reed thrust the arrow the rest of the way through his arm. He cried out as the sharp tip pierced through his muscle and skin to come out the other side of his limb.

Shaking, he reached behind his arm, grabbed the arrow head and pulled it the rest of the way out. "Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," he hissed, dropping the bloodied arrow to the ground.

But now he was bleeding more than before. He would have to cover the wound. Dragging himself with his good arm over Trip's legs, Reed reached for the guard lying dead beside his friend. Fortunately for Reed, the guard's clothes had been shredded by fierce fighting, and it was easy for him to tear off a strip with one hand.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But I think I need this more than you right now." He was just about to turn over when he inadvertently looked into the dead man's eyes.

"Damn it," he cursed, recognizing the face of the guard that had helped him with Trip the other day. But he didn't have time to mourn.

Rolling onto his back, and resting on Trip's thighs, Reed tied the dirty cloth around his wound. He made sure to knot it directly on top of the wound, using his teeth as a replacement for his other hand. Then he let his head fall back. He was too weak to hold it upright any longer. His vision began to blur, making the clouds overhead distort and fade together in grotesque images.

Reed could feel the blood rushing from his head, adding dizziness to his accumulating symptoms. His arm was numb, like the rest of his body now. The sounds of the ensuing battle around him began to fade. A clash here, a muffled scream there. Eventually it all sounded like music.

And from the corner of his eye, he could see the fighters moving swiftly, in slow motion across his field of visionâ€”dancing to the music they were creating. It was a deadly ballet choreographed by their strategic maneuvers, and their will to survive.

Reed let his head fall to the side so he could see Trip's face. But it was buried by his arm, lying haphazardly over his head. Reed watched his friend's back, looking for the rhythmic signs of respiration. His security blanket. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the muscles expand as Trip drew in a breath.

"I'm sorry," murmured Reed, the last of his strength draining from him. "I'm so sorry I failed you."

And just before Reed's eyes closed tight, a smile wearily spread across his lips. Above him, hovering precariously overhead, was a familiar face. "Am I dead...?" he whispered, before blackness finally won it's battle.

* * *

T'Pol raised the flaming torch. She held it high above her head, then began to wave it back and forth. From her perch atop one of the fortress walls she was easily visible to her friends hiding in the surrounding forest. Then, throwing her stolen black coat to the ground to reveal her true identity, T'Pol readied herself for the descent.

She jumped free of the wall and landed on the ground with both feet. It only took a moment for her assault team to jump into action as well. Enough of them had infiltrated the camp to make an immense dent in Blasius' defense. Although none of them knew exactly who Blasius was, or even his name, they knew someone had to be in charge of this atrocity. And each member of the team wanted to be the one to bring him down.

But T'Pol concentrated on the guard nearest her first. That was the plan. They would take them by surprise, and be careful not to harm any of the innocents in the interim. And there were plenty of innocents to be found. The guard T'Pol had decided to take out first happened to be accompanied by several slaves. So T'Pol had to be careful.

She stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The guard didn't even have time to completely turn around before he was rewarded with a fist to his face. He dropped to the ground in a heap as the slaves scattered. And T'Pol flexed her hand mockingly, then turned to find her next target.

Elsewhere in the compound the other members of the assault teams were doing the same. Picking their way through the guards and taking them down one by one.

But some fights were not so clean.

Ridden animals were brought down. Arrows, fists and weapons were sent piercing through the skyâ€”some finding their marks, some finding other not so admirable marks. It was total discord and turmoil. People were running everywhere trying to find the enemy. But with both sides wearing the same clothes, the task was arduous and tedious. And several fights ensued where the same sides battled each otherâ€”that is of course until they realized their mistake and moved on.

But through all this turmoil and discord, Archer noticed one thing. One very odd, unsettling thing. No one seemed to be helping anyone. The guards fought to save themselves. The prisoners scrambled, thinking only of their own safety. Archer noted this with disgust as he fought his way through the flailing arms and ricocheting arrows.

Don't they care about anyone but themselves? He asked himself, throwing a well aimed punch at an attacking guard.

He pushed on, his eyes searching for the familiarity of his best friend and his armory officer. But he couldn't see them amongst the mess. He tried calling their names as he ducked, paused, took the time to place a well planted foot in a man's chest and send him flying across the compound.

"Trip! Malcolm!"

Archer continued, shouting orders over his shoulder as he fended off the persistent, and somewhat surprised, guard before him. He wanted to pull out his tri-corder, find his crew that way, but the task was too time consuming when the enemy was at your preverbal door step.

So, the captain sent his people off in different directions; both to search for the despot responsible, and to find his two missing crew members. It had been too long for his liking since this battle had began, and still there was no sign of either Reed or Trip.

It wasn't until he noticed two men shuffling through the battle that his heart lightened.

It had to be Reed and Trip. As he had noted earlier, aside from those fighting along side him, no one else seemed to be fighting for anything other than themselves. But the two men making their way across the compound, one carrying the other, obviously had more important things on their minds besides themselves.

And he knew Reed and Trip well enough to know, that no matter what was going on, they would always look out for each other. His crew were proud and strong, and more importantly, devoted to each other.

Archer thrust his fist into the belly of his opponent, then stepped back to aim his foot, ending the private battle quickly. Again, a phase pistol would have been better, but he hadn't wanted to bring light to the fact that they were aliens on this planetâ€”so they had left them behind.

He turned to find T'Pol amongst the crowd. Spotting her, Archer waved his arms over his head.

"T'Pol!" he called, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Over there! Over there!" He pointed to the giant slab of concrete where the two men had just fallen, and prayed that the Vulcan would get there in time.

* * *

T'Pol ducked and weaved her way through the flailing arms, fending off opposers as she went. Finally she reached her mark and bent over her fallen friends. Reed's eyes were already half closed, and T'Pol wasn't certain, but she could have sworn there was a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Am I dead...?" murmured Reed.

"You are not dead, lieutenant," stated T'Pol, as she pulled him to his feet. She hoisted the fallen crew member over her shoulder, then turned to look for help.

Coming up behind, fighting his way through the onslaught, was Archer. T'Pol didn't need to explain what was going on. The captain rushed past her and scooped Trip up in his arms.

"Let's go while the going's good," ordered Archer, already making his way back through the deadly compound.

The Vulcan followed, her charge securely over her shoulder.

* * *

She had lost complete track of what had been going on around her. And when the battle had ended, she had felt drained. She had felt forlorn. Hand to hand combat was not Hoshi Sato's stronger point. And she had not been able to find Reed or Trip either. She also regretted not finding the despot in charge. But she had heard rumors. Reliable and glorious rumors about her friends.

And now she was heading to a nearby town to verify their validity. Hoshi had heard, after reuniting with several of the rescuing villagers, that Archer and T'Pol had been seen leaving the compound with two of the prisoners. Well, they once were prisoners. Now they were free.

In the end, they had been able to defeat the guards, and send them running. And as Hoshi followed the signal on her tri-corder towards the pre-designated town, the villagers and company were gathering what was left of the guards and preparing them for their due punishment.

Hoshi hadn't wanted to stick around to watch. She had seen the venom in their eyes as they had rounded them upâ€”demanding of each of them the whereabouts of their leader.

Blasius.

Hoshi knew the name now. And she hated the mere sound of it. It sent shivers down her spine, and the bile in her stomach to churn. What was worse, no one had been able to find him. It appeared as if Blasius was going to get away with what he had done. And that ate Hoshi up inside.

But she didn't have time to think about that.

Night was coming, and Hoshi wanted to arrive quickly. But she did take mind of the silent time allotted her. She knew she would need the time to think. To prepare for the worst.

And when she arrived at the edge of town, she stopped dead in her tracks. Villagers were gathered outside a small domicile with a front porch, pacing and waiting silently.

A lump formed in her throat, and she felt her knees go weak. There was no question in her mind who was on the other side of that door. It was the designated hospital. Slowly, she started forward. Taking each step gingerly, and praying with each footfall that the news would be good.

Unfortunately, Hoshi could tell by the faces on the villagers that it wasn't.

She walked past them silently, brushing off the comforting hands as she made her way to the front door. But she was barely able to go any further. She placed a hand on the hard, rough wood, and rested her forehead on the door. Then Hoshi forced herself to breathe as she slowly pushed the door open.

* * *

Doctor Phlox had not prepared for this when he had initially set out with the away team. He had stayed behind in the nearest village during the rescue, setting up triage and medical first aid, should the need arise.

Unfortunately, the need had arisen, and on a level Phlox had not packed for. He would have much preferred Captain Archer and T'Pol charge into his Medical Bay onboard Enterprise with the two filthy and emaciated patients.

But according to the last hail from Mayweather, Enterprise would not arrive for several more hours.

Archer had been the first to enter the small office, Trip in his arms. Then T'Pol entered, Reed slumped over her shoulder. Then they had both stepped back  
and allowed the doctor to do his work.

And as Doctor Phlox went about examining his patients, the two officers filled him in on the details he would need to know. The images forming in his mind as he listened to the tale of genocide and bondage made him want to wretch. And he supposed wretching on his two patients was definitely not the best way to cure them.

After doing a quick visual assessment, the doctor decided Commander Tucker needed him the most. Lieutenant Reed, his arm wrapped in a filthy bandage, could wait. Or, be taken care of by Archer and T'Pol.

So, as the doctor set to work on Trip, Archer began applying antiseptic cream to Reed's wounds. He then re-bandaged the arm with sterile dressings from Phlox's bag, and stripped him of his filthy, tattered remnants. Reed was then put to rest in a fresh, yet somewhat large, set of clothes.

He would be fine. A little sleep, some good food and a long hot bath was the best prescription for Reed. Trip on the other hand, was another story all together.

The doctor felt his forehead and discovered a fever. A raging fever. No doubt from an illness picked up in the slave camp, or acquired from the poor living conditions. Either way, the young man was unearthly sick. But he was regaining consciousness, which was a good thing. Or so the doctor thought. He was not yet aware of the full extent of the young engineer's injuries.

As Trip began to wake, he also began to stir restlessly. Tossing his head back and forth and grimacing in pain. The doctor attributed it to the sickness and the fever, but a good medical tri-corder scan would have proven otherwise.

This was when the door to the office slowly creaked open. The doctor looked up and saw Hoshi Sato step across the berth. He nodded curtly, and returned to his work.

But once again he was interrupted. This time from the thrashing emanating from the cot holding the young engineer. The doctor knelt beside him, trying to keep the young man from apparently jumping out of his skin. He had to enlist the help of Archer and T'Pol to hold the young man down. His patient was writhing in pain. His eyes were open, but unfocused and clouded with tears.

* * *

Reed heard the noise from deep within his slumber. It shot him upright in bed, sweating and shaking. It didn't take long for him to realize where the noise was coming from. He quickly threw off his covers and stumbled across the room, pushing his captain out of the way as he headed for Trip. Reed knew he had to get to his commander. He had to stop his pain.

But he had to fight his way through T'Pol and the doctor to get to his friend. They were trying to hold Reed back, trying to stop the armory officer from inflicting harm to Trip.

But Reed knew something they didn't. And he tried his hardest to tell them to turn Trip onto his stomach, but the words didn't come out right. Reed was too anxious and scared to form proper sentences. So instead, his words came out muffled and confused.

The rest of the people in the room had no idea what was wrong with Reed. Just that he seemed wild and out of control, and that he was trying to reach Trip with outstretched arms.

It took a lot of self-discipline for Reed to calm himself down, but eventually he was able. And eventually he was able to articulate a full sentence. "His back," he said, taking deep breathes as T'Pol held him at bay. "Roll him onto his stomach. It's his back."

The doctor looked at him quizzically, then, not seeing why he shouldn't believe him, he proceeded to roll his patient onto his stomach. This brought the thrashing to a near cessation. But it was still present, only now it was merely unconscious shifting.

Reed drew in a deep breath before continuing his explanation. And as he revealed what had happened to Trip, he kept his eyes focused on the floor. The pain inside him was already too much for him to bare. He didn't need to see it reflected in Phlox's, Hoshi's, T'Pol's or Archer's eyes as well.

"My goodness," breathed the doctor, looking at his patient on the cot. "How can people be so cruel?

"Can you help him?" asked Archer, ignoring the doctor's dismay. "Will he be all right till Enterprise gets back?"

The doctor pursed his lips, ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I'll do my best," he replied, pulling a footstool up to Trip's bed. "That's all I can say for now. But I ask that you leave," he continued, slowly stripping the shirt from his patient's back to reveal the blood soaked bandage. "This most likely won't be pleasant, and I don't need the distraction of you in the room."

Archer was about to protest when a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.  
"You, Ensign Sato and Lieutenant Reed can wait outside," said T'Pol, her voice quiet yet obstinate. "I will stay with Commander Tucker."

"What's he going to do?" rushed Hoshi, her eyes darting between Trip and her captain.

"I'll have to remove the bandage," replied the doctor. "And it will be painful. The blood's clotted and stuck the cloth to his skin. It'll take some time, and some careful hands, but I can do it with a little anesthetic. It needs to be done in order to clean the wounds. It would be better under more sterile conditions, but I can make do with what I brought down."

"Please," said T'Pol, guiding Hoshi towards the door. "Wait outside with the Captain and Lieutenant Reed."

Both Archer and Reed wanted to argue. But they knew their efforts would be futile, so they relented and stepped outside to the porch. When the door banged closed behind them, they jumpedâ€”their hearts skipping a beat. They didn't say anything. And neither did the villagers waiting on the porch.

The villagers gave Reed encouraging glances, while some shared hopeful gestures with Archer and Hoshi. But for the most part they left them alone to sit on the edge of the porch. The body language of the three strangers was clear enough, they did not need to speak their thoughtsâ€”especially the one called Archer.

It was easy to tell that looking at Archer was like looking at an incomplete entityâ€”a part of the whole. Appetite, spirit and reason: the three things that comprised the mortal soul. When one was missing, the others couldn't function properly.

And without Trip, neither could Archer.

* * *

The silence that ensued afterwards was severe; like the quiet before the storm. The not knowing was killing them. And Reed finally decided he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"I failed him," he murmured, staring at the floor boards between his feet. "I promised I'd get him out of there, and I failed him...Lieutenant Malcolm Reed broke a promise."

"He isn't a prisoner anymore," replied Hoshi, turning caring eyes towards her friend. "You did get him out of there. And yourself."

"No. I didn't," stated Reed. "I failed him. It was the Captain and T'Pol who got him out. But I promised Trip I would..."

"And how do you think we found you?" came a deep voice beside them.

Reed turned to see his captain. So deep in his own revulsion, Reed had forgotten he was there. "I failed him, Captain," repeated Reed, dropping his head. "If you hadn't come along, Commander Tucker would be dead by now. I wasn't able to get him out of there. What kind of friend am I? I'm so sorry, Trip."

"Lieutenant," persisted Archer. "How do you think we found you?" Reed's only answer was silence, so the captain pressed on. "We found you because you did not fail Trip. You stayed with him. Amongst all that chaos and hell, I saw you because you were the only one trying to help someone. Everyone else was fending for themselves. But you were carrying Trip. That true testament captured my attention." Archer paused and shared a look with Hoshi. "And that makes me proud to call you all my crew members."

The words were true, but they didn't help Reed feel any better. "I feel callous," stated Reed. "I hear what you're saying, Captain. But now that I have a chance to truly realize what was going on, I also feel so cold inside. I never gave it much thought when we were prisoners, but I turned a blind eye on the reality of this planet's situation. "

"What do you mean, Malcolm?"

Reed covered his face in his hands. "I was so preoccupied with how I was going to save Trip, and myself in the progress," he rushed to add. "That I was nearly oblivious to the plight of these people. How can I be so unsympathetic towards other races? I mean, I actually think I made jokes."

Archer thinned his lips. "We make jokes in order to cope," he said. "Sometimes we have to. And as I see it, you never turned a blind eye on anyone. You or Trip."

Reed shook his head. "You weren't there, Captain."

"No, I wasn't," replied Archer. "But tell me this, why didn't you and Trip escape on your own? The two of you could have found a way out, or did you not really consider it?"

"We tried not to consider it," stated Reed, slightly ashamed. "If we had of left, the other prisoners would have been slaughtered for our punishment. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

Archer smiled gently. "There's your answer, Malcolm. Don't sell yourself short, you're a good man."

Reed sighed and reached for his belt buckle, the one Trip had given him, and the one he used to gain inner strength. But it wasn't there. He remembered removing it in the cavern to light the torches. He had forgotten to retrieve it. A hand gripped his heart, tightening the muscle. But it wasn't necessarily a sad pain. For he had forgone his talisman to save othersâ€”to keep them warm. Reed had lost a great thing, but in return, he had gained a great feeling.

He shared a glance with Hoshi before turning to his captain. "And Commander Tucker?" he asked. "He's going to be all right, right?"

"Only time will tell."

"He is asking to see the both of you," came T'Pol's voice behind them. Caught off guard, they turned to look at the Vulcan quizzically, then rose to their feet. "He is awake." She paused, blinked. "If vaguely."

Reed and Archer walked to the front door. The lieutenant put a hand on his captain's shoulder and let him enter first. T'Pol remained on the porch with Hoshi, wanting to let them have some time alone.

* * *

Trip looked peaceful, like someone taking a long nap after a hard day. His head was resting on a clean white pillow with one hand lying beside his face, the other arm stretched out along side him. He was asleep again. And he would have even looked normal if not for the wounds on his back.

Reed and Archer crept across the wooden floor quietly, not wanting to disturb him. And the doctor, fixing bandages across the room, had issued a hushed warning to keep the noise to a minimum. Reed and Archer abided, tentatively pulling up two chairs to the cot.

"How is he?" asked Archer, twisting in his seat to look at the doctor over his shoulder.

"He has suffered a great deal. But in my humble opinion, I believe he'll be right as rain," replied the doctor with a wink. "But it's going to take a lot of rest, and a lot of support. And I'm afraid there is only so much I can do about the scarsâ€”given the time lapse between infliction and definitive treatment onboard Enterprise. He will have to live with those. Most likely for the rest of his life...or medical technology reaches the proper level."

Not wanting to aggravate them, the doctor had left Trip's back exposed. The blanket draped on top of him came up only to his waist. Archer and Reed stared at the scars, clean and strikingly red against the pale of Trip's skin.

There were so many. Some were small and deep. Others stretched across the entirety of his back. It was a mosaic of lines, criss-crossing a pattern across his skin. They were obviously painful, but they would heal.

It was Trip's inner turmoil and memories that would be harder, and more difficult, to cure. And once again, time would be the judge of that. Time would tell if Commander Tucker would be able to get past this. Add it up to another adventure completed, another experience under his belt.

Reed still had to begin his journey down that long arduous path, but he would have Trip to travel along side him. Together they would learn to forgive, but not forget.

Forgiving would mean they would accept what had happened to them, take it as a lesson learned on how cruel the universe could be. They would take what they had learned with all that dying and misfortune, and carry it with them as a legacy to the living. They would take that backward glance for those that did not survive, of places they could no longer go. And in time, when they felt safe to call it all a thing of the past, they would take one moment to embrace those departed prisoners left behind.

But forget...Never.

Reed would never forget. He would never allow this to become a mere cobweb in his mind. Instead, he would draw from it strength and courage when life became too difficult. He no longer had Trip's gift, but he would have this. It wasn't as tangible as the buckle, but it would do. And he could live with that.

"Oh, one more thing," said the doctor, clearing his throat. He crossed the room, heading for the pile of clothes sitting on a table beside the cot. Trip's shirt was neatly folded, his boots placed under the chair, standing side by side.

The doctor lifted the clothes and picked up a small, silver clasp. He held it up before Reed and Archer. "I found this in the Commander's boot," he said, turning the object around in his hand to examine it better. "I'm not sure why it was there, but I assume it was because he didn't want to loose it."

Reed's mouth dropped. The object in the doctor's hand was his belt buckle. The one he thought he had lost. The one he had buried in the cavern's floor. The one Trip had given him.

A wave of emotion swept through Reed, making his skin flush from head to toe. His hands shook as he took the precious buckle from the doctor. He had to bite hard on his lower lip to control it from trembling.

"What is it?" asked Archer, trying to look at the silver object being carefully held in his friend's hands. "Is that one of our shuttle insignia's?"

Reed grasped the buckle tightly, making a fist around it. "My goodness," he breathed, eyes fixated on his sick friend. Something dawned on him, something he had never considered before, but made perfect sense now. He hadn't been able to figure out Trip's actions before, but now they were shockingly clear.

"What?" pushed Archer, his eyes darting between them both.

Reed turned to his captain. "All this time..." he started, finding it more difficult to hold back the tears. He remembered Trip trying to convince him to leave him alone. He remembered Trip telling the guards he wanted to die. Trip had been trying to sacrifice himself, and Reed hadn't realized something till now. "All this time I thought I was taking care of him..." his voice trailed off as the words caught in his throat. "And he was actually looking after me."

"That's just the way he is, lieutenant," replied Archer, nudging his friend gently with his shoulder. "Always looking out for others before himself. He's a special man."

Reed nodded, his eyes still on the resting form of Trip. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, he is."

Archer leaned forward on his chair, rested his elbows on his knees. "Do you think we tell him that enough?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he turned to Reed.

Reed thought about the question for a moment, then nodded his head. "Sure we do. He knows."

"Yeah, you're probably right," replied Archer with smile.

Reed turned the buckle over in his hands, fingering the curves and etchings tentatively. "But I wonder..." he said thoughtfully. "Why did he take this? He must have seen me bury it, but if the Commander thought he was going to die there, why did he hide it in his boot?"

"Maybe his spirit had different plans?" suggested Archer, crossing his arms over his chest.

"His spirit?" asked Reed.

Archer nodded, looked at Trip on the bed. "When the body's reached it's limit and the mind has already given up, there's still a part that thrives to continue." He paused and drew in a deep breath. Placing a hand on Reed's shoulder, he continued. "When all hope seems to be lost, the human spirit prevails. Maybe that part of Trip took the buckle...His spirit hadn't given up yet, even though the rest of him had."

Reed drew his head back. "That's deep."

"Yeah," breathed Archer. "But it makes sense. The history of human suffering is proof of that."

Reed smiled back at his captain. "Makes you glad to be human, doesn't it?" he kidded, though not completely.

Archer nodded venerately. "Definitely."

A soft noise from the bed caught their attention, diverting them from their self discoveries. Trip had stirred.

"Malcolm...?" he whispered painfully, his eyes fluttering open.

Reed nearly jumped off his seat as he leaned forward over the bed. "Yes, Commander. It's me," he said.

"Am I dreaming?" Trip asked, then let his head fall back on the pillow.

"No, Trip. You're not dreaming," replied Archer, unable to contain his jubilant grin.

"Cap'n...?"

"Yes, it's me," continued Archer. "You're safe now. Everything's gonna be all right. Enterprise is on it's way."

Trip closed his eyes, took in a deep breath. "Safe...Yeah...Blow 'em to bits...Malcolm..." he mumbled.

"I'm right here," answered Reed, grinning ear to ear.

"Thank you."

Reed furrowed his brow, turned to Archer in confusion. "For what?" he asked, cocking his head closer to Trip.

"For not listening to a stubborn engineer," Trip replied stiffly. "For not leaving me behind."

"Just get some sleep, Trip," Reed ordered softly, not wanting to address that topic quite yet. He would save that discussion for later.

Reed was still harboring guilt, but right now there were more pressing matters. And he knew if he went forward with that conversation, he'd end up crying. And that was definitely not something an armory officer would be caught doing. "You just rest," he repeated, turning his head as he covertly wiped an eye.

Trip nodded slowly, letting his eyes flick open for a brief second before closing them again. "Sleep...Yeah...Guards coming..." he said, before he grew too tired to continue.

Archer sat back in his chair, rested a hand on Reed's shoulder as he too gave Trip some room. "He's got a rough night ahead for himself," he said, squeezing Reed's shoulder.

Reed nodded, fingered the buckle still in his hand. "Indeed." A rough time indeed. He drew in a deep breath and watched the rhythmic rising and falling of Trip's back. The sign of breathing. The sign of life. Reed's security blanket. "But he's going to be okay," he said confidently.

* * *

> We'll ride so far, ride so hard, far away from here.  
> When we look back upon them, it will all become so clear.  
> The gates will open up for us.  
> We won't have no more fears.
> 
> -Tom Cochrane, 'All the King's Men'


End file.
